


Something I Can Never Have

by orphan_account



Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon 1991), Darkwing Duck (Cartoon 2018), DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Breaking and Entering, Family, Fights, Gen, Hallucinations, Hospitals, Inspired by Fanfiction, Original Character(s), Past Child Abuse, Torture, Trauma, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-04-07 11:05:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 41,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19083745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: (Semi-hiatus)Negaduck, plagued by both his troubled past and defeat at the hands of Drake Mallard, vows to get his revenge by any means possible, but is quickly thwarted---multiple times. And he must come to a realization about his place in the world.Meanwhile, Drake and his family find out that his idol, Jim Starling, is still alive, although not quite the same anymore. Despite this, Drake's father has just one question: Can Jim be saved?





	1. Something I Can Never Have

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [I Bet My Life](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6892339) by [RebellingStagnation](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebellingStagnation/pseuds/RebellingStagnation). 



> I want to thank somebody who will only be known as G, for editing this work, and to thank RebellingStagnation for their inspiration and helping me be motivated to write more. Most of all, I want to thank my best friend GoldenHeartBeats for giving me the idea in the first place.
> 
> I hope you enjoy the fanfiction. There will be more to come.

Negaduck wanted to violently break into the house. He wanted to shatter the windows or chainsaw down the door or otherwise wreak havoc, but he couldn’t do it this time. 

 

Why?   
  
His feet did not budge. The chainsaw stood still in his grip as he continued to stare at the window. Drake Mallard was either inside, or out in the city. He hoped for the former; he liked the idea of kidnapping Drake while he was asleep, causing panic within the family. Striking fear within their hearts. Negaduck really wanted that.

 

After several minutes, he took a deep breath and proceeded to pick the lock with a bobby pin, stepping into the quiet house. The interior was dark, this didn’t bother Negaduck, as he had grown accustomed to seeing in pitch-black conditions. 

 

He browsed his surroundings, examining the living room, kitchen, bathrooms---so clean and pristine and lovely, it made him sick. All the more reason to hate Drake Mallard, whom he believed to be a spoiled kid who had everything handed to him on a silver platter. 

 

Negaduck shook his head and made his way upstairs. 

 

He browsed the second floor, trying to guess which room belonged to Drake Mallard. The only door that was adorned with various crude decorations and stickers presumably belonged to his adopted daughter---Drake had a little girl now, he knew that. 

 

Process of elimination. That left the other two doors; one was already open, and as far as he could tell it was empty, so it couldn’t have been that one. The remaining door would have to be it, then. He placed his ear against that door and listened intently for any activity.

 

Silence.

 

Scrunching up his beak, he turned the knob and entered the bedroom. The bed was empty, not made, and the windows were closed, curtained over.  

 

“Hm,” he scoffed, “Must be saving the city again.”

 

Change of plans: Negaduck now hoped Drake would stay out of the house as long as possible, and he would look through the house for any valuables instead. 

 

He wished his fan---that hulking, dimwitted duck---were there; although he wasn’t too bright, said fan was loyal, something Negaduck could appreciate. If only Drake hadn’t stolen the fan for himself and severed all loyal ties to Negaduck...

 

...He wasn’t Negaduck back then.

 

The modestly sized bedroom was a fanboy’s wet dream; it was covered head-to-toe in Darkwing Duck-themed colors, posters, merchandise, whatever Drake and his ‘friend’ could get their hands on. A long time ago, Negaduck---no, Jim Starling---would have been flattered, to have such devoted fans of his show.

 

But now? Not anymore. He only felt contempt.

 

The bedsheets were rumpled, purple-white pillows and blanket askew. The closet was open, conspicuously missing a Darkwing Duck outfit. Those two had definitely gone out for the night and he wouldn’t have been surprised if the little girl went with them as well.

 

Filled with curiosity, Negaduck set his chainsaw on the carpeted floor and began to look through the nightstand and dresser drawers. 

 

He was surprised to find even more Darkwing Duck memorabilia near the clothing. Drake’s clothes were in a separate drawer from Launchpad’s and folded neatly where the other’s weren’t. There was a Darkwing Duck comic peeking out from the drawers. Feeling a sense of ridicule, he could just sense Darkwing---the false Darkwing---sneering at him.

 

Negaduck shut the drawer quietly and peeked into the bathroom next, but found nothing of interest. He retraced his steps and looked to the wooden desk adjacent from the bed.

 

A series of framed photographs caught his eye. He moved closer to get a better look. The majority of the photographs were of Drake Mallard and his father. Although there were photographs of Drake’s friend, the girl, and Drake’s fanclub, Negaduck disregarded those; his focus was solely on Drake’s father. 

 

Negaduck felt a mix of emotions swim though him as he surveyed the photograph. Disgust, resentment, even regret. He could never have had pictures of his father in his own house, let alone remember anything about him. He didn’t want to.

 

After a some mental expenditure, Negaduck managed to tear his eyes away from the photographs. He headed back downstairs, picking up his chainsaw along the way.

 

He walked into the kitchen, which appeared to him to be child-proofed---the knives and other sharp cooking implements were stored away and the oven turned off. The refrigerator, once opened, was stocked with plenty of food and ingredients. The fridge’s door had several magnets and drawings decorated on it, which must have been the work of the little girl.

 

He looked closely at one of her drawings---she drew herself dressed in green and purple and holding a bow and arrow, her face cartoonishly determined, and her hair a vibrant red. She was situated between Darkwing Duck and the fan, both drawn equally heroic. 

 

The sweet and gushy nature of the drawing was enough to make Negaduck retch, but he had to admit, the girl was pretty good at art for somebody her age.

 

As Negaduck made his way to the living room, he found the furniture so comfortable that he actually considered resting on the sofa for a second, but ultimately decided against it. To even admit that Drake had good choice in upholstery, would be admitting defeat. 

 

He looked around his surroundings, and caught sight of even more photographs. Just how many photos did Drake have in the house? Those sickening feelings of dejection and longing from the bedroom had returned. He felt the urge to start his chainsaw and turn the house upside down so to speak, but he simply could not. 

 

Instead, he sat on the sofa and picked up one of the photographs.

 

The photograph he chose showed Drake and his father at the beach. Drake looked about twelve in the photo. They seemed to be smiling, laughing, and enjoying each others’ company in the hot midday sun. He wrinkled his beak in disgust. 

 

How dare they be so happy.

 

Negaduck put down the photo and took another one. This one showed Drake, well into his college years, standing next to his father. 

 

This one had to have been taken by a professional, they wouldn’t have looked out of place in a christmas card. 

 

Despite mentally telling himself to stop looking at the pictures and to just leave, Negaduck couldn’t. He picked up another photograph and began to inspect it. It showed Drake as an infant, swaddled in a soft blanket, his father cooing and kissing him. 

 

Drake was always smiling, even as a baby. 

 

All Negaduck wanted to remember about his own father was that he was dead. He had tried so hard to undo the damage his father had done to him, but it never worked. 

 

“He really does have everything I want,” Negaduck sighed to himself, wondering how life would had been had his own father been a better one.

 

There were footsteps descending the staircase. Small footsteps.

 

Looks like the little girl had stayed for the night, after all. Negaduck brandished his chainsaw, preparing to scare the living daylights out of her.

 

“Dad?”

 

He winced a little at that.

 

Dad.

 

like she was calling him dad. 

 

He pushed away the offending thought and started up his chainsaw. The little girl flicked the light on, looking blearily up at the stranger. She was every bit as spunky and chubby-cheeked as he’d remembered. He nearly let his guard down. Sure, it was only a little girl, but it was Drake’s little girl. 

 

And if it took chainsawing her in half to make him surrender, then so be it.

 

The child, however, was no pushover. She suddenly dove quickly between Negaduck’s legs and kicked him in the rear, stumbling him over. 

 

His chainsaw flew to the ground and whirred loudly as he struggled to get back up. He stuck out a leg, attempting to trip her over, but with a somersault, she managed to flip him onto his back.

 

She placed a foot on his chest, glaring at him with her hands at her hips.

 

“You’re not dad! Answer for yourself!”

 

Negaduck was too stunned to say anything. Clearly, Drake had been training this kid. And somehow, he liked her spirit. 

 

He grabbed her leg and tossed her off of him, scrambling to his chainsaw as she made a leap for his back. Her hands were wrapped around his neck, he struggled to get her off, slamming her against the wall and starting up the chainsaw again. 

 

She did not give in, continuing her vice grip around his neck and kicking his sides and elbows whenever possible. Negaduck twisted and turned and bent over trying to get her off him, deciding the chainsaw useless at the moment, dropping to the floor and rolling as she finally let go of him. 

 

“You’re good!” Negaduck breathed, trying to get back on his feet. 

 

The girl recovered, and glared daggers at him. What an attitude. It was as if she wanted to keep fighting. 

 

“You’re Negaduck,” the girl said, “I’ve heard about you.”

 

He nodded.

 

“What kinda name is Negaduck? And what kind of clothes are those?”

 

He ignored those questions, dusting off his clothes and grabbing his chainsaw, “Don’t do stupid things like that again, kid.”

 

“Why are you here?!” The girl stomped her foot indignantly, her eyes still fixed on him.

 

Negaduck sighed. How did Drake ever handle such a little fireball?

 

“I lost something.”

 

“No, you didn’t! You wanted to find my dad.”

 

My dad.

 

Negaduck looked around sheepishly, trying to head for the front door, “Look, kid, this is all just a bad dream. Go to sleep.”

 

She didn’t move.

 

“I’m Santa Claus.”

 

She raised an eyebrow.

 

“Please don’t tell your dad. Or his head will be gone. Forever.”

 

The girl didn’t like that. To Negaduck’s surprise, she began sprinting towards him. Negaduck bolted out the door, the girl continuing to chase after him. She had to be cut from the same piece of steel as her father.

 

He could barely believe what he was doing, running away from a child?  Negaduck wasn’t weak. 

 

Negaduck didn’t surrender.

 

He stood in place and raised his chainsaw up high, his eyes glowing. Pulling his best menacing expression, he growled and swung the chainsaw down. 

 

That finally got the better of the girl, as she turned quickly and ran away from him. She ran back home, back under the covers of her bed, maybe convinced now that she was having a nightmare.

 

“Never mess with Negaduck, kid! Never!”

 

He panted, staring at the house he’d broken into, the girl he fought, the pictures. 

 

Oh, the pictures.

 

Images of his father came flashing in, and he shook his head to get them out of his head. 

 

He didn’t need to be reminded of his father. Not now, not ever. The sun was coming up, which meant Drake and Launchpad would soon return home. Negaduck could do nothing now but sulk back to the alleys and sewer drains he called home.

 

He had come to the house expecting to find and kidnap Drake Mallard, only to be reminded of the ghosts of his past and get in a fight with an extraordinarily spirited little girl. 

 

Negaduck growled, chainsaw in hand, and trudged back “home”.

 

All it took was catching a glimpse of the front door wide open to get Darkwing Duck sprinting towards his house.

 

He paused, breathless, when he saw what a mess had been made of the living room. Chairs toppled over, potted plants at their sides, broken decorations, and shattered photos. 

 

Gosalyn had always been a troublemaker, but her own personal destruction always seemed coordinated, like she knew exactly what to break and what to topple over to hit her father in the right spots. This was not her work. 

 

It was chaos, a mindless destruction brought on not by a little girl’s spirit, but by some other force, one borne of anger and malice.  He immediately ran upstairs.

 

“Gosalyn!”

 

He tried to open Gosalyn’s bedroom door, but the knob rattled, refusing to turn.

 

“Gosalyn, what happened?!”

 

No response.

 

“Open the door. Please!” Drake yelled, agitated. If it took breaking the door down to ensure his daughter’s safety, he could live with that. 

 

“He came here, dad.”

 

Drake stopped, leaning against the door, “Who?”

 

“...Negaduck.”

 

A chillingly familiar name.. Drake knew about how obsessed he was with hunting Darkwing down, and the dangers Negaduck seemed to attract. Drake shivered at the thought that Gosalyn had tried to fight him.

 

There was such a thing as getting too brave, after all.

 

At last the door unlocked, opening to reveal Gosalyn swaddled in her blanket, looking furious about beating herself up for giving up so soon.

 

Drake instantly pulled Gosalyn into a bear-hug , barely holding back his tears. Barring a few bruises and scrapes, she seemed to be unharmed. Drake made a mental note to patch her up with great care afterwards.

 

Drake asked her all sorts of questions at once,

 

“Are you okay?!”

“He didn’t hurt you too bad, did he?”

“Did he touch any of my merchandise?”

 

Yes, no, maybe, came her three responses.

 

Finally, he  _ had _ to ask,

 

“He didn’t have his chainsaw with him, did he?!”

 

“No,” Gosalyn lied. She wasn’t risking giving her father a heart attack this time.

 

Drake sighed, running his fingers through Gosalyn’s hair, “Next time, you’re coming with us. Or I’m hiring a babysitter.”

 

Launchpad came up the stairs, panting. He took a deep breath, relieved, as he saw Gosalyn relatively unharmed, Drake holding her in another hug.

 

“Burglar came in?”

 

Drake turned to face Launchpad. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to say what actually happened. They had enough of a turbulent night for now. Especially Gosalyn.

 

He just nodded, and suggested everybody try to get a little sleep.

 

Drake looked back at Gosalyn, with her hair mussed up and bruises on her face. He wouldn’t be surprised if she put up a fight---he felt that he should be proud of her, but she was his daughter and he couldn’t risk her putting herself in danger anymore. 

 

Tomorrow, Gosalyn would  be given all the love she deserved..

 

And Negaduck would pay.


	2. No Ordinary Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how often I am going to upload each chapter. A lot of it has been written already, I feel like the earlier chapters aren't as good as the later ones, but whatever.

 

Drake awoke to the sound of Launchpad’s thunderous snoring. Fighting against his exhaustion, he turned to see the clock next to the bed reading 8:05 AM. Plagued with thoughts of Gosalyn and Negaduck’s interaction, he had barely gotten any sleep. He forced himself out of bed, and dragged himself to the bathroom. 

 

He surveyed himself in the mirror, noticing the developing stress lines.

 

“Huh,” Drake rubbed his chin, squinting, “It’s like I’m looking at---”

 

_ Jim Starling? _

 

Drake quickly banished the thought from his head. Honoring his longtime idol was one thing, but trying to  _ become _ him was a step too far for Drake to consider. 

 

After brushing his teeth, combing his feathers and shaving a little under-beak stubble, Drake walked downstairs to assess the damages.

 

“Yes, this is all real,” Drake thought to himself and shook his head, “This is definitely all for real.”

 

He wasn’t sure if the three of them could do it all in a day; maybe he’d have to ask the Muddlefoots for help.

 

He’d just have to explain it as a simple burglary and not the result of a chainsaw-wielding maniac willing to fight a 9 year old. 

 

Drake walked over into the kitchen and prepared a cup of coffee, glancing at the myriad of magnets and drawings on the refrigerator door as he waited for the coffee to brew. He smiled, remembering the day Gosalyn drew a picture of herself and her two dads.

 

She’d also drawn a picture of herself as a superhero, calling herself “Quiverwing Quack”. In it, she had envisioned a world where a Robin Hood-style vigilante fought alongside Darkwing Duck as his sidekick.

 

Drake made a mental note to visit a tailor and see if he could come up with a proper costume for Gosalyn.

 

His coffee was ready; he added milk and a dash of sugar. Launchpad joked about how he wanted his coffee “as sweet as he was”. 

 

Drake grabbed a bagel from the pantry, eating it plain rather than toasting and slathering it with jam as he liked to, for the sake of brevity.

 

As he sipped his coffee, Drake checked out the living room, browsing the mess that had been made, making a mental note to at least put the chairs back to their correct position so Launchpad and Gosalyn could have a place to sit for a while. He noticed how the photographs had also been toppled over, some thrown across the floor and facing down. Placing his coffee and bagel onto the table, he moved to the living room and picked up one of the photographs, smiling as he noticed it was a picture of him, with his father.

 

It was a long time ago, but he remembered it vividly:

 

It was during summertime, when Drake was twelve. He and his father had gone to the beach after lunch, and ran along the sand on the edge of the waves. They spent the entire day playing, swimming, sunbathing, and enjoying each others’ company. 

 

The fondness that swelled in his heart was almost enough to offset what happened the night prior.

 

Negaduck must have seen these pictures. Drake wondered what Negaduck thought of his family life. 

 

Probably nothing. Drake snorted to himself, quickly disregarding such an absurd prospect of Negaduck having a family life.

 

His heart raced in his chest as he gazed at the phone near the kitchen wall. How he’d love to speak to his father again, to hear the low and gentle tone of his voice. The child inside Drake was yearning for comfort, and there was only one man who could provide that better than anyone else. 

 

It crossed his mind to not mention the break-in to his father, but he is loathe to keep any secrets from him. Although his dad was aging, he was able to care for himself, staying at Drake’s childhood home and occasionally visited his son. It was nothing Drake Mallard Sr. couldn’t handle.

 

Despite being perhaps more comfortable with his dad than with anyone else, Drake’s heart was still pounding in anticipation as the phone dialed loudly into his eardrum. After what felt like a lifetime, the dial tone noise ceased its repetition, and a soothing voice emanated from the phone.

 

“Drakey?”

 

Drake smiled. He hadn’t heard that nickname in a while. 

 

“Hey, Dad.”


	3. Zero Tolerance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Implications of abuse.   
> Sorry it had to be posted on Father's Day.

_ Many decades ago... _

 

The movie studio was closed for filming. Inside, cameras whirred and lights shone brightly onto the set as filming took place. This was Basil Starling’s domain. The film director would have his way with everything, no matter how much time it took or how much money it cost. He looked intently at each actor and actress as they walked on set, he told them what to do, and if they didn’t like what he asked, he’d tell them to do it  _ more _ or the actor would need to be replaced.

 

He was directing a new movie. It would be a thrilling, action-packed ride, and he was proud of it. Now all he needed to do was make the scenes look perfect, especially when his son was acting in the protagonist’s role, one of a daring adventurer out to find the lost city of El Dorado.

 

“Cut,” Basil yelled, stomping his foot against the floor. He practically spat out his cigarette as he continued to complain,  “What do you think you’re doing?!”

  
  


The director stood up from his chair and walked over to his son, who was pinned under styrofoam rocks and wood. Basil had his arms behind his back, which his son immediately knew meant he was in trouble.

 

Jim looked up with wide eyes. He wasn’t hurt, he just hadn’t expected the “rocks fall onto the hero” scene would happen _ this _ early. He understood, though, that this was just how his father directed. He loved surprises. It was his philosophy that an actor could not truly act if he  _ knew _ what was coming to him, disregarding the original definition of an “actor” and wanting their emotions, movements and reactions to feel  _ real _ . So real that the audience could never tell if the actor was truly afraid, or simply pretending to be. And that meant he would also make scenes happen earlier or later to throw the actor off.

 

“You weren’t supposed to fall in this position.”

 

Jim didn’t move. His father never wanted him to move around unless he specifically stated otherwise. He watched as Basil took a drag of his cigarette, glaring down at his son.

 

“Falling on your stomach is so predictable! You were supposed to fall to your side, left side,” he kicked Jim in the shoulder, forcing him to his side, “like this!”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Basil continued to glare, and kneeled.

“I taught you better than to make mistakes, Jim. None of my actors have ever made mistakes.”

 

Jim nodded.

 

Basil looked up at the styrofoam rocks and rubbed his chin. He thought about bringing in heavier material than styrofoam, something that would really put Jim into the right position, and have the right reaction to being pinned under this time. He pulled Jim out of the rubble and pushed him backstage, telling him to stay put until the cameras started rolling again. Jim rubbed his shoulder and muttered something under his breath.

 

The director was notoriously harsh to his actors and actresses, but he was most austere to his son, expecting him to be the best of the best, no matter how many takes it took. He could never have somebody of the Starling name be a failure.

Jim did not look at his father, he didn’t want to see the ever-present disappointment etched on his face again. Basil noticed.

 

“You look at me right now, Jim!” He pulled Jim’s beak towards his face, “You always look your director in the eye! Especially when he’s giving you directions!”

 

“I’m sorry, Dad.”

 

Basil bit though his cigarette, spitting it at the floor and crushing it under his foot as he glared at Jim.

 

“Don’t,” he growled, tightening his grip on Jim’s beak, “ever call me  _ Dad _ .”

 

Jim gulped, nodding.  Basil walked back to the directing chair, telling the cameraman to wait until Jim was ready to act.

 

The scene replayed. In this part of the movie, the protagonist would attempt to run from the falling labyrinth, only to be pinned down by rubble and approached by the villain. 

 

Jim knew what he needed to do---he’d tried it countless of times already, and he memorized exactly what his father told him. He looked at what was supposed to resemble the labyrinth---in reality it was no more than a simple stone maze with overhanging objects that on cue would fall on top of the actor. 

 

Adjusting his costume slightly, Jim went into position and closed his eyes, bracing for action. When his father said  _ go _ , he ran into the maze, dodging the obstacles and looking straight ahead the whole time, then running out to the other side of the maze. The objects were released from their ropes and fell on top of Jim, as scripted.

 

“No!” Basil yelled, “Cut it again! Jim!”

 

The cameraman protested, “Again?! Can’t you give him a break?!”

 

“No breaks in  _ my _ filming!” Basil took out a cigarette and lit it, “Especially not my son!”

 

“He’s twelve!”

 

“And?” 

 

Basil dismissed the cameraman and walked to stand over Jim.

 

“You’re on your right, idiot! What did I tell you?!”

 

Jim winced, “To be on the left.”

 

“So,” Basil kneeled down once again, “Why the hell are you on your right?”

 

Jim averted his father’s eyes. He said nothing. Anything else he would say would only make Basil angrier. 

 

“Tell me, Jim. I am trying to do what’s best for you.”

 

Jim knew that voice. That low voice Basil used when trying to be gentle with his son, trying to regain his trust and get him to stand back up and continue acting. He had grown to hate it. 

Jim felt a twinge of pain in his right leg as he struggled to position himself down on his stomach. Was his leg broken?

 

“You are going to do this all over again. And this time you will do as I say,” Basil pulled Jim’s beak closer towards his face, “If you fail me one more time, you will be replaced.”

 

Jim did not break eye contact this time, wincing through the pain.

_ Replaced? _

 

Basil took a puff of his cigarette, noticing Jim’s pained face as he exhaled.

 

“What’s wrong, Jim?”

 

“My leg hurts,” Jim cried.

 

Basil’s face shifted from fury to mild concern.

 

“Is it broken?”

 

“I hope not.”

 

Basil nodded, placing the cigarette back between his teeth and pulling his son out of the rubble, ignoring the pained yelp that came out of him. He had Jim lay on his back as he checked the leg, squeezing it to feel any broken bones, but there were none to be found.

 

He glanced back at Jim, “It’s just a sprain. You can walk it off.”

 

Jim said nothing else. He knew how his father dealt with these situations. He knew how to act kind, even compassionate.

 

He later came home with a limp. Basil did not bother with supporting his son, butNina noticed, and pulled her son into a tender hug. She asked if he was okay, how the filming went, if Basil was being nice to him this time. Jim didn’t answer any of those questions, instead burying his head in her shoulders. 

 

“Nina,” Basil cleared his throat, taking out a new cigarette in the process.

 

“He’s limping,” she said, her voice filled with concern.

 

“Sprained his leg. Bandage him up or take him to the doctor tomorrow, it’s late.”

 

Nina didn’t object, she motioned to Jim to go upstairs, holding his hand as they went. Jim could bathe by himself, but with a sprained leg Nina offered to help him, afterwards applying ointment and bandaging his leg for good measure.

 

Jim hoisted himself up to bed and pulled the covers all the way up, covering most of his body.

 

Nina sat at the foot of the bed, giving him a reassuring look.

 

“I’m so sorry about your father, Jimmy,” she tugged down the covers, “He’s a very complicated man.”

 

Jim almost rolled his eyes. Basil wasn’t just  _ complicated _ . He was many other things, too. 

 

Jim had the bruises and emotional distress to prove it. His mother knew,  she’d seen it before. She’d tried to stop it, tried to get Jim medical attention, argued with Basil over what happened.  _ Complicated _ wasn’t cutting it.

 

But he didn’t roll his eyes, not this time. He understood that she just felt sorry, and was trying to rationalize everything in her own way, accurate or not.

 

“I still want to act,” Jim pulled his blanket closer, “No matter what Dad thinks.”

 

Nina gave him a warm smile, “I know. And you will be an amazing actor, regardless of what Basil believes. You’re irreplaceable.”

 

Jim looked up at his mother, with her brilliant green eyes and curly red hair. She looked like an angel to him. Maybe she was.

 

Nina reached in to hug him.

 

“You’re Jim Starling,” she continued.

“You will be famous one day. I promise.”


	4. You're Lost, Little Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Debating on posting a chapter every Sunday and Monday instead cause it's gotten hella long, too long to keep up.

 

Ever since their confrontation, Gosalyn’s mind had been stuck on Negaduck. Thoughts of his glowing eyes, the sound of his chainsaw’s blaring motor, and his growling voice persisted in her head constantly. 

 

Despite the encounter scaring her half to death, Gosalyn was still enveloped by curiosity and, against all reasoning, wanted to see him again. This time, she resolved to get the answers she sought. 

 

Who was Negaduck?

 

The house was slowly but surely returning to its former glory, thanks to the combined effort of its inhabitants. One would never have guessed that a messy fight had occurred the night before. Drake’s heart swelled with pride at seeing his family’s work ethic, and promised to treat them to a nice dinner. Drake drove her and Launchpad to a fancy restaurant they hadn’t been to before, serving BBQ and seafood.

 

After all the work she had to do, Gosalyn appreciated the gesture, especially after Drake guaranteed she’d get extra dessert.  

  
  


While Gosalyn loved her father very much, she could not get Negaduck off of her mind. His psychotic tendencies and desire to kidnap and do God-knows-what to her dad sent chills down her spine, yet she did not shut off these thoughts. 

 

She just had to know more. She could never  _ tell _ Drake that though, it would upset him to no end that Negaduck affected his little girl in such a way.

 

When Drake asked her why she was sulking, she just shrugged him off.

 

Behind Gosalyn’s eyes, fixed passively on the menu, her mind was racing; she had to find Negaduck again. She knew her father would never let her see him, so she had to devise another way to reach the mysterious criminal. 

 

From her movie knowledge, sometimes a character would excuse themselves by going to the bathroom, when in reality they were trying to escape one way or another. She hoped it would work in real life as well.

 

The nagging thoughts about Negaduck never left her, and she asked herself, 

 

Why did she want to see him?

 

Was it his similar appearance to her father? Was it that he suddenly broke into the house at all? was it all his fury that was so palpable to her?

 

All the thoughts she had were cut by her father’s voice,

“What would you like, Gos?”

 

“The bathroom,” she said as soon as Drake had asked.

 

“Wh--oh, you mean you need to go. Okay, go ahead.”

 

She hopped off the chair and started running to the women’s room,, hearing her father call, “stay safe!” from behind her.

 

Gosalyn’s heart ached as she heard those words, knowing how despite her father’s motto of ‘let’s get dangerous’, all he ever wanted was his daughter to be safe in the end. She knew her father would be worried sick if he found out she was trying to look for Negaduck.

 

She felt Drake’s eyes on her as she entered the bathroom and locked the door behind her. She smiled when she saw that the bathroom had a window in it, and it was just big enough for her to fit. It The window was covered in dust, the glass cracked and the metal frame rusted, but none of those things mattered to Gosalyn now, not when she was so close to Negaduck.

  
  
  


Climbing onto the sink to reach the window, she pushed it open, wincing as it made a metallic squeak, and peeked outside. Outside of the bathroom was a stone-and-pavement back alley, empty save for the dumpsters and littered with graffiti. She looked further from the window to see the city street just ahead.

 

Gosalyn braced herself and swung her body over the frame, out of the window. Ignoring the newfound pain as her knees met the pavement, she started towards the street.

 

The city was quiet.  _ Too _ quiet. The streets were bathed in an orange-yellow glow from the streetlamps, the only other sign of life being some of the neon lights flickering. Gosalyn shivered as she walked further out the street, taking a deep breath and telling herself that it would all be okay and she would get what she wanted.

 

A flash of color hurried past at the adjacent street, and Gosalyn recognized those yellow-and-red colors.  She ran right across the street and dodged passing cars, playing  _ Frogger _ in real life, as she maneuvered her way to the next block, trying not to lose sight of Negaduck.

 

The night sky eventually became jet-black as Gosalyn found herself in one of the city’s innumerable interconnected brick alleys. Wrinkling her beak and puffing out her cheeks, she turned around to walk back when she heard something.

 

“Cornered in the alleys, how predictable.”

 

Negaduck stepped out of the shadows, his bright clothes illuminated only by the streetlamps He had no visible weapons, signaling with his hands open to prove it. 

 

“It’s you!” Gosalyn exclaimed, clasping her hands together.

 

The caped criminal put his hands behind his back as he circled around the little girl, eyeing her with as much curiosity as she had towards him. Gosalyn stood on her tiptoes and puffed her chest out in an attempt to look more intimidating.

 

Negaduck broke into a maniacal cackle. Gosalyn’s excitement went out in that moment.

 

“Kid, I’ll spare you  _ this _ time. But only  _ this  _ time,” he leaned close to her and hissed, “Now get the  _ hell _ out of here.”

 

Gosalyn did not break eye contact. 

 

“I just want to know who you are. Not Negaduck! Who you  _ actually _ are!”

 

There was a moment’s pause before Negaduck erupted into laughter again. He managed to catch his breath before answering, 

 

“Kids. They can be devils or angels. Usually the former.”

 

Gosalyn held her fists out, “That’s not what I asked! I’m not afraid to fight you again!”

 

Negaduck clicked his tongue, wishing he actually had at least a pistol with him on hand. He grabbed the girl by her collar and let her dangle from her shirt as he watched.

 

“You made a big mistake looking for me.”

 

Gosalyn stuck her tongue out. Negaduck dropped her back to the ground, sneering. 

 

“I’ll tell you one more time, kid. You were lucky before, and you’re only lucky now if you move your sorry ass out of here.”

 

Gosalyn sat right where she was on the dusty ground. She did  _ not _ nearly get hit by several vehicles crossing a dark street and running as fast as her tiny legs could carry her, just to turn back around now. Negaduck was here, and she  _ would _ get her answer.

 

There was only one thing she could do now to keep his attention.

 

“You want to know who I am, then?” Gosalyn stood up, walking closer to Negaduck, “Why am I here? Huh?”

 

There was no response from the caped duck.

 

“I’m---”

 

“Gosalyn?!”

 

The two froze at Drake’s voice crying out for his daughter. Negaduck hissed something vulgar under his breath, and grabbed the girl by her arm, dragging her deeper into the alleys, into a manhole.

 

Gosalyn sputtered and coughed as she felt herself be enveloped by murky water and foul odors, rubbing at her eyes to see her new surroundings.

 

The sewers were dark, long tunnels reaching behind and in front of her endlessly, murky water was up to her hips and there was a foul odor lingering. She gulped, her eyes wide open.

 

She hadn’t expected this to happen. Gosalyn shook her head and watched Negaduck crouch next to her, eyeing the manhole opening. Despite her thundering heart, she tried to stay brave.

 

“What---”

 

Negaduck clamped a hand down on her beak, growling, “Shut up.”

 

She had been terrified. Now, she was furious. 

 

Negaduck grabbed the girl again, taking her even further away down the sewers. Gosalyn tried and fussed to get out of his grip, but to no avail. He was serious about kidnapping her.

 

Deeper and deeper they went until they reached an opening in the sewers. An opening that had since been fitted to resemble a makeshift bedroom, complete with a stolen mattress, desk, and mirror. Gosalyn shuddered at the thought of Negaduck actually  _ living _ in here.

 

Negaduck dumped her right down on the springy mattress, growling. His eyes had that glow again, that glow she’d seen before...

 

“Stay right there!” Negaduck hissed. 

 

Gosalyn balled her fists, “Where are you going?! Why did you take me here?!”

 

“You told me your name, idiot!” Negaduck shouted, “Now I know who you are.”

 

Then he grinned deviously, “And you’ll take me to where your dad is.”

 

Gosalyn growled and turned away. Negaduck grabbed her beak towards his face, glowering. 

 

“Look at me, kid,” he said as pleasantly as he could, “I need to see your father.”

 

Gosalyn screwed her eyes shut so she did not have to see Negaduck in the face, but lifted one open as an idea popped into her head.

 

“Yeah, on one condition,” she nodded, “tell me who you really are.”

 

Negaduck tossed her against the mattress, frustrated. He took to the mirror and sighed as he saw himself, not taking off the hat or mask.

 

Gosalyn hardly seemed fazed by his actions, she looked like she was eager for more, like she  _ really _ was made of iron. Negaduck didn’t want to give in to her resolve. For some reason, he didn’t want to let go of her, either.

 

But he had to.

 

“Stay right here, kid. You leave in the morning, and you do not wake up until I tell you so.”

 

“Are you going to sleep in the water?” Gosalyn asked, suppressing a giggle. 

 

Negaduck growled at her and told her to shut up, walking back in the direction of the manhole cover.

 

After some time, sleep had finally taken hold of the little girl. She hugged herself on the hard mattress as she tried to imagine her father tucking her into bed, warm blanket at all.

 

Negaduck made his way back to the alleys, looking for any sign of Drake Mallard in the streets. When there were none, he retreated back into the sewers, sighing.

 

He wondered why he even bothered to take the girl down here. She was the enemy, or part of the enemy, and wouldn’t even hand over her father to him. By all means, there was no real reason for Negaduck to have her sleeping in his bed.

 

Maybe it was her red hair. 

 

Red, like mom’s.

  
  
  


Gosalyn awoke with a start as cold water splashed all over her. She shook off the water and growled as she leered at Negaduck, who stood with a bucket in his hands.

 

It seemed there was no getting through his defenses and trying to get to know the truth behind him. 

 

Negaduck motioned for her to leave the room, explaining that she would have to go by herself, and to not mention anything about him, and he told her something else very important: “Never, ever come back to me, you hear?”

 

He watched as Gosalyn walked away, getting smaller and smaller until she disappeared into the darkness.

 

He whispered, “Don’t get lost, kid.”

  
  


Negaduck took a deep sigh and laid back against the mattress, staring at the moldy ceiling. 

 

“What the hell did I just do?”

 

He ran his fingers through his feathers, feeling a chill coming on as he continued to stare upwards, trying not to shiver. Only weaklings shivered.

 

He thought about his mother again, suddenly being seven years old and running into her arms for a warm embrace, whether coming home from school or caused by his father’s presence. 

 

Something hit him in the shoulder; a small rock had found its way into the sewers, hard and black. His eyes wavered as he looked from the rock to the rest of the sewers, jumping out of the mattress and shouting into the air, 

“Show yourself, punk!”

 

A powerful new odor reached his nostrils, an odor so familiar to him that it sent his mind racing though the past, all the experiences he had, all the cuts and bruises and burns he’’d suffered and all the tears and feelings of hopelessness he’d had gone through suddenly rushing back to him. 

 

The sour, awful, odor of cigarette smoke.

 

Negaduck retreated himself into a corner, looking smaller than he’d ever been.

 

Why, of all people, did his father have to come back?


	5. My Hero

_ Many years ago... _

 

The school bus slowed to a stop at 91 Stone Avenue, the engine settling as the bus driver pulled the lever to open the door. Drake was the last child to be dropped off home, having done nothing but look out the window and wander in his own thoughts throughout the ride. The duckling lifted his backpack up, slung it over his shoulder and said his thanks to the driver as he hopped down the bus.

 

He looked up at his home, humble and inviting with its modest front yard. The lights were on, signaling that his father was inside.

 

Drake rubbed at his sore shoulder, lamenting the fact he tried to stand up for himself at all, that he kept a brave face in front of those bullies in the playground but only got bruises and insults in return. In the aftermath, he cried and ran away, which in retrospect him feel cowardly; it wasn’t something Darkwing Duck would ever do. He felt vulnerable.

 

As he opened the front door and stepped in, Drake let the inviting warmth take him in, noticing his father but not making eye contact with him.

 

Drake Sr. watched as his son went upstairs without even saying hello. With the way Drake carried himself as if a tremendous weight had been placed on his little shoulders, he feared the worst.

 

Setting his book down on the couch, Drake Sr. made his way up the stairs and knocked on Drake’s bedroom door. When there was no response from the boy, he tried to open the door, the knob rattling indicating that it was locked. Something must have happened at school to make his Drakey  _ this _ upset.

 

Fatherhood hadn’t come easily to Drake Mallard Senior. He’d been caught in a divorce that began just as quickly as he got married, left with very little money, and when his ex-wife refused to keep her newborn son, he was the one to take custody of the duckling. He raised his son with the best love and care he could possibly do as a father, especially because his own parents never cared for him. 

 

Heading back downstairs, Drake Sr. rubbed his chin as he thought of what he could do to help his son. He paced back and forth around the living room, arguing with himself on what to do when he caught sight of something. An issue of a Darkwing Duck comic, with the titular character standing proud, his gas gun ready, the villains apprehended. Drake Sr. took a closer look at the comic, a smile forming on his face as he finally got his idea.

 

Drake wept into his pillow as he thought about the cruel words the bullies had spat towards him. Ignoring the knocking on the door, he only wanted to be left alone, under the covers, with the lights turned off and drifting off into dreamland...

 

“Drakey.”

 

Drake opened an eye. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t ignore his father’s voice.

 

“Drakey, I have something for you.”

 

Curiosity having taken over, drake wiped away the remainder of his tears and headed to the door, turning the knob and unlocking it.

 

At the door was Darkwing Duck.

 

Or, it was  _ almost _ Darkwing Duck. The clothes weren’t  _ quite _ right; the fedora was too small, the turtleneck too green, the suit not the right amount of buttons. But, to him? It was still Darkwing Duck.

 

“I am the terror that flaps in the night,” the masked mallard swished his cape around as he entered the boy’s room, “I am the overstuffed burrito that spills onto the lap of crime!”

 

Drake watched in awe as Darkwing jumped onto his bed and announced himself in a booming voice.

 

“I am....Darkwing Dad!”

 

Drake’s eyes widened, letting out a squeak as he climbed onto his bed and hugged his father. 

 

His father  _ was _ Darkwing Duck.

 

Returning the hug, Drake Sr. enveloped his son with the cape and kissed him on the forehead.

 

“You can also call me Dadwing, if you want. When there’s trouble, just call me. I’ll protect you with everything I’ve got.”

 

Tears poured out of Drake’s eyes as he let out a whimper, smiling wide and resting his head against his father’s chest.

 

“Thank you, Dadwing.”

 

“Anything for you, Drakey.”

 


	6. Love Is Stronger Than Pride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some new writing sandwiched in here.

Nothing had gone the way Gosalyn planned or expected. She’d hoped Negaduck would have had the sense to speak to her instead of doing something dangerous again. Rolling her eyes, she realized how naive it was of her to hope so. A chainsaw-wielding maniac wouldn’t play nice.

Gosalyn wandered the murky sewers, retracing her steps back to where Negaduck had taken her down into.

 

 Furrowing her brows, she remembered what he said before turning her away:  _ “Never, ever come back to me, you hear?” _

 

It was a good thing that Gosalyn was such a rebel.  _ Of course _ she would come back. What else would Gosalyn Mallard do?

 

Light began to pool down the sewers, and she picked up her pace once she spotted the light source. Upon reaching the manhole cover, Gosalyn climbed up the rusted stairs and pushed off the cover, taking a deep breath of the fresh, cool air she so craved. Now she just had to find her father. Shaking off the remaining sewer water and ignoring the cold, Gosalyn looked around for her father, expecting to see him in his Darkwing Duck costume and panicking, yelling her name.

  
Actually, she could hear that. Right around the corner of the next block, she could hear him call her name, as well as running footsteps. 

 

“Dad!”

 

Gosalyn ran across the road to the adjacent sidewalk and held her breath waiting for her father to come out---or Negaduck. No, couldn’t be Negaduck, he was in the sewers.  _ Don’t be paranoid, Gos. _

 

“Dad!” She repeated, searching for any sign of Darkwing or Launchpad in the following city block, trying to ignore the cars zooming back and forth on the road. 

 

And she saw him,  _ not _ in his Darkwing costume, but with Launchpad.

 

“Gosalyn!”

 

Drake ran into her with a tight hug and quickly searched around for any cuts or bruises, when he found none he sighed heavily and asked, “Where did you run off to?”

 

Gosalyn tried to think of whatever lie she could come up with, no matter how outlandish. Anything that wouldn’t reveal that she’d gone to see Negaduck.

 

“I saw Quackerjack head down the street.”

 

Drake raised an eyebrow, “Quackerjack isn’t real.”

 

Gosalyn looked away, caught in the lie. Drake let go of her and gently moved her head back to face him, his eyes narrowed slightly.

 

“Why did you run away, Gos? I should have known!”

 

Gosalyn scrunched up her beak and put her head down. Drake’s expression softened as he saw her shoulders drooping. Naturally he  _ would _ be angry and concerned that she’d run off somewhere---even if it wasn’t the first time, but it seemed like she actually was guilty for going on an escapade this time.

 

Still going to be grounded.

 

“I think you’re watching too much  _ Darkwing Duck _ .”

 

“But you  _ are _ Darkwing Duck,” she pointed out. 

 

Drake clicked his tongue. Why did his little girl have to be so witty?

 

“I was looking everywhere for you! I didn’t even have the time to get my costume, I never expected this sort of thing to happen, you know?”

 

“Then maybe Darkwing should expect the unexpected.”

 

“Oh,” Drake ruffled her hair, “You’re  _ definitely _ grounded. Except, ah, it’s supposed to be a special occasion today, so maybe tomorrow.”

  
  


The three walked back to the parking lot near the restaurant. Gosalyn seemed to drag behind Drake with uncharacteristic sluggishness, which prompted Drake to stop and take another look at her.

 

“Are you okay? I mean, I don’t have to ground you for too long! No one hurt you, right?”

 

“I’m good, Dad. What’s this ‘special occasion’?”

 

 Drake smiled warmly, “Well, somebody is coming to visit,” His brow furrowed, “Imagine if I hadn’t found you. I...You gotta be more careful. Or I gotta be, I don’t know.”

 

“Who’s coming?”

 

“Well. If I told you who it was, it wouldn’t be a surprise, right?”

  
  


Drake parked in the driveway in front of their house, turning off the ignition and hopping out of the car, opening the door on Gosalyn’s side to let her out. She had some newfound curiosity in learning whoever would be coming home, and of course after spending the better of the night on a hard mattress in the cold sewers with a psychopath, home was truly sweet home.

  
  
  
  
  


“It’s still early,” Drake said, “You need a shower and clothes change, too! I can’t have them think I...wasn’t being a good parent!”

 

Gosalyn couldn’t think of anybody more important in Drake’s life than her (present and accounted for), or Launchpad (who was here too), or Jim Starling (who was either dead or missing). 

 

“Are you  _ sure _ you’re okay?” Drake asked again as they headed upstairs, “Nothing broken, no bumps, no trauma, physical or otherwise?”

 

“No, I’m fine!”

  
  


After Gosalyn had showered and changed, Drake inspected her one more time for anything out of the ordinary, much to her annoyance, and he smiled when he saw all was good.

 

“It’s still early! We can have breakfast right now.”

 

Gosalyn smiled, hoping she could have one of those sugar-bomb cereals she loved so much. But, no, it was just eggs and toast. Breakfast was almost always eggs and toast. She made a face and stuck her fork in her sunny-side-up, wondering who would be coming over and why they were such a surprise.

 

“Well,” Drake cleared his throat after what seemed like hours, “I can explain what it’s all about, the best I can anyway without ruining the surprise,” he gave a small chuckle and continued, “That morning after the break-in, I came down here to get myself some early breakfast, and I saw what a mess the living room was. Even all the photographs were scattered around. So I picked one up, and, well. I made a phone call soon after that. It’s been a while.”

 

Gosalyn said nothing, nibbling on a piece of toast. Launchpad, on the other hand, was hopping up and down in his chair, as if he were a rocket about to go off at any time.

 

“Your grandpa’s coming, Gosalyn!” he blurted out, prompting a glare from Drake and a hushed “oh,  _ crap _ ”. 

 

Gosalyn froze in place, once she heard the word  _ grandpa _ .

 

“Thanks a lot, Launchpad,” Drake put his face in his hands. 

 

Gosalyn still did not move, and Launchpad caught wind of what he just said, flushing bright red. Neither of them talked or ate for a few more minutes until they heard knocking on the front door.

 

Drake stood from the table, clasped his hands together and went over to the door, looking out the small window to make sure it was whoever he was expecting, and turned to Gosalyn with a smile.

  
“Well, You’ve never met him in  _ person _ ,” he winked, turning the knob and opening the door, revealing the surprise guest.

 

Gosalyn didn’t recognize the duck at the door, but his large whiskers and strong chin reminded her of Drake, even the eye colors were the same. That’s when she put the two together.

 

“Drakey!” the stranger beamed, hugging Drake tightly, “Have you gotten taller?” 

 

Drake Mallard Sr. was short and chubby, certainly not the same physique as his son and yet they looked  _ so much _ alike. The father just had a lot more age and experience evident in him.

 

Gosalyn shrunk back in her seat as Drake Sr. noticed her and said hello. His voice was so gentle and warm. Like Grandpa Waddlemeyer.

 

“Is this my granddaughter? How wonderful to meet you!”

 

Drake Sr. took a seat next to Gosalyn, smiling even though she hardly wanted to look at him.

 

“Shy, is she?” he asked, stirring his coffee laden with sugar.

 

“No, she’s usually very bold,” Drake shook his head, “She just escaped the restaurant last night looking for Quackerjack.”

 

The older duck nearly spat his coffee, cracking up as he’d heard the name Quackerjack, “A fan of Darkwing Duck too, is she? You introduced her?”

 

Drake puffed up his chest, “Every single episode. And all the comics, too.”

 

Gosalyn watched as father and son carried on their conversation, with Launchpad occasionally making a comment in between. She didn’t know how to feel, it was as if everything that had happened since the night Negaduck broke into the home was a hurricane taking her away for a ride and never stopped. Too much had happened too quickly, and now her... _ other _ grandfather was here.

 

She went back to nibbling on her piece of toast.

 

After breakfast, the family retreated to the newly-refurbished living room, sharing voices  and laughing together. Except for Gosalyn. She sat in her corner of the room, looking out at the window.

 

Drake Sr. sighed, watching her somber expression from afar---he was reminded of when his own son would get into sour moods at roughly the same age. He excused himself and walked over to where Gosalyn sat, placing a book down next to her.

 

She glanced quickly at the book, then back to the window. The older duck frowned. He prompted to take a seat next to her, and said hello.

 

“Leave me alone,” Gosalyn turned around, her back facing him.

 

He sighed again, and tried to tell himself that although she didn’t seem like talking to him at all, she hadn’t left the seat when the opportunity struck. That meant there was still a chance.

 

“I just wanted to get to know you.” 

 

“Yeah,” Gosalyn scoffed, “yeah.”

 

Drake Sr. picked up his book, flipping through the pages, “I write books. This is one of them, it’s about the kidnapping of a famous person. You probably don’t recognize my name though---besides from my son, I mean. I’m not popular.”

 

No response.

 

He set the book back down and furrowed his brows, wondering what else he could say to try and cheer the girl up. Being Darkwing Dad had worked for his  _ son _ , but for his  _ granddaughter _ ? He wasn’t so sure. 

 

“You like Darkwing Duck, right?”

 

That made Gosalyn turn around. She nodded.

 

“I hear Drakey---your dad became a real life Darkwing Duck himself,” Drake Sr. smiled, the lines on his face showed his age, “I’m so proud of him. So proud.”

 

Gosalyn gave a ghost of a smile before turning back and continuing to give him the cold shoulder. 

 

“The show really inspired him to become the man he is today,” he continued, “There is a story I’d like to tell some time, it involves Drakey and a lunchbox.”

 

Gosalyn continued to look disinterested.

 

“I’m sorry about Jim Starling,” Drake Sr. rubbed at the back of his head, “What an unexpected tragedy.”

 

“Jim Starling?” Gosalyn turned to face him again, all previous coldness now replaced with newfound curiosity.

 

Drake Sr. nodded, “The original actor for Darkwing Duck. Surely you know?”

 

“Dad told me what happened, yeah,” A new question sparked in Gosalyn’s mind and she asked him, “Do you know who Negaduck is?”

 

Drake Sr. raised an eyebrow, “Yes, Drakey told me how he popped out of nowhere, causing havoc in the city.”

 

Gosalyn’s eyes twinkled,

“You...don’t think Negaduck could be Jim Starling, do you?” 

 

“Oh, heavens, no. He wasn’t born evil.”


	7. Drag The Waters

 

“You let her go.”

 

Basil’s croaky, low voice filled the sewers, echoing throughout the tunnel with each word piercing into Negaduck’s cold heart.

 

“Why did you  _ let  _ the girl  _ go _ ?”

 

Smoke filled the sewers, bitter-smelling. Negaduck swallowed back the bile that had crawled its way into his throat. The smoke stung his eyes and he felt himself being dragged back into the past. No matter how much he looked for his father, the sewers were free of any other entities beside himself. Oh, if only Basil were actually _ there _ . He would have loved to drive a knife right into his heart.

 

Negaduck gulped, trying to keep himself composed and believed that he was just hallucinating. The caped criminal assured himself that it was nothing, just another part of his new life since that fateful night he broke into Drake’s home. He took one more look at his room, and decided he had to flee if it meant escaping from Basil Starling.

 

But he was wrong. The acrid cigarette smell never left. No matter how much he tried to run from it, the stench pursued him. He’d found his way back to the manhole cover and ran out of the sewers, pushing through unassuming pedestrians before cornering himself into an alley. 

 

He was in the same spot as the little girl had been. How predictable.

 

It was still morning, the sun low on the horizon, half of the lights in the city still lingering on. The shadowed alley, contrasted with the early morning sun further ahead, made Negaduck’s feathers stand on end. It did not help matters that Basil was potentially  _ somewhere _ . Negaduck could feel himself trembling, his breath quickening.

 

He swore at himself. Negaduck doesn’t get  _ scared _ .

But, no. This was different.

 

“Just who do you think you are running from?”

 

In the light he could not be seen, but when Basil stepped into the darkness, he revealed himself to his son with a glaring look and his hands behind his back, the shadows deepening his gaunt features. 

 

Negaduck took a deep breath, stopped shaking and stared right into his father’s steely eyes. For a moment Basil smirked, walking closer towards his son. His feet made no noise and the dirt underneath did not displace. 

 

“Jim.”

 

Negaduck didn’t say a word. His father coughed hoarsely---right into his face---and repeated his name.

 

“Jim. I know what you have been doing. I’ve watched you.”

 

“Never doubted you did,” Negaduck hissed, “And I’m not Jim anymore.”

 

Basil raised a bushy eyebrow, “No? Darkwing Duck or Negaduck or whatever, you’re still Jimmy to me.”

 

Negaduck winced as his father called him that pet name. Only Nina had ever called him such. She’d always referred to him as ‘Jimmy’ so affectionately, especially when comforting him. And when she left---a divorce that should have put Jim in the custody of the mother but for some _ reason _ did not---it was only he and his father.

 

 That meant _ he’d _ call him Jimmy, but not at all in the same way as Nina had. It usually left him with a few more cigarette burns and sore lungs.

 

“How long have you been watching me?!” was what Negaduck wanted to yell out, but all that came instead was a choked cry escaping his throat as Basil had his hands around his neck. Negaduck clawed at his father’s arms and face trying to get him off, catching only clumps of air in his fists. At least nobody could see him having a fit this deep in the alleys.

 

He gasped for air, getting up at his feet. Again he couldn’t see Basil, who had slunk back into the light, but he could  _ sense _ him. The cigarette smell sticks to you, as they say. Negaduck shuddered at the thought that Basil had been watching him the  _ entire time _ , including what happened a year ago---the movie studio, the reboot, the explosion...He  _ had _ to have seen that. Otherwise, he wouldn’t know Negaduck.

 

“You continue to disappoint me, Jim,” Basil wheezed, “Even after death. You’re a hindrance to the Starling name.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Negaduck hissed, “There was no one else but us two. And now, just me.”

 

Basil’s face found its way into the shadows again, squinting at Negaduck. 

 

“I’ll ask you one more time,” Basil’s eyes gleamed, “Why. Did you. Let the girl go?”

 

“She was stubborn.”

 

There was a whoop and a loud crack heard next to Negaduck’s head, he gritted his teeth and looked down, seeing the broken remains of a rock beneath his feet. He moved his gaze towards Basil, who was gripping another rock in his hand, brows furrowed.

 

“Stubborn?” Basil’s voice roared, the stench of the smoke growing stronger as he stepped closer, “You claim she was  _ stubborn _ ? Do you remember what happened whenever  _ you _ acted stubborn?”

 

Negaduck said nothing. He remembered. 

 

He didn’t want to.

 

“Honestly, Jimmy,” Basil grumbled, “Maybe I should have been harder on you.”

 

_ Harder? _

 

“Don’t call me Jimmy,” Negaduck took a step forward, “I’m Negaduck. Do you think I was getting soft?”

 

Basil produced a cigarette from thin air and inhaled, raising an eyebrow.

 

“I’m planning to kidnap Drake Mallard. I’ll make him suffer. Suffer for what he did to me. Taking away my  _ role _ , stealing my biggest fan,” Negaduck growled, his eyes locked onto his father’s. 

 

Basil looked back at him, frowning, cigarette tightly placed between his teeth.

He wished his father wasn’t a ghost---or hallucination---so he’d have the pleasure of killing him himself, instead of old age and illness. Basil had made him suffer too, perhaps more than anybody else ever had.

 

Filled with new determination, Negaduck headed back down to the sewers, taking out a few pistols plus his trusty chainsaw, thinking of ways to easily get to Drake. Basil hovered around him, the cigarette smell ever-present. He either would have to get used to that, or find an exorcist soon.

 

Basil’s apathy towards Negaduck’s planning bothered him, he’d expected more of a reaction from his own father. Growing suspicious, Negaduck asked, 

 

“Aren’t you getting tired of playing nice?”

 

Basil took a long draw of his cigarette, “Frankly? Hell didn’t give me much room to play nice.”

 

White-hot pain coursed through Negaduck’s chest, and he was left curled up on the ground, swearing. He struggled to look up at Basil, who was grinning at him, bony arm outstretched, his hand in a fist. 

 

He gasped for air as he scrambled back up, gripping his chest. The pain grew worse, burning right though his lungs and straining his diaphragm. His vision blurred and his breath came in ragged, each lungful of air growing more agonizing by the second. Basil opened his fist, pushing his son against the wall with great force. Negaduck gasped for breath, his head swimming. 

 

“Bastard,” he spat out, reeling from the shock.

 

“Don’t you disappoint me  _ again _ , Jimmy.”

 

Negaduck briefly glanced at his father’s smiling face before passing out.


	8. Dangerous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are about to get darker from this chapter onwards.

Drake Mallard had almost forgotten.

Between cleaning up the house and inviting his father over, he’d nearly forgotten that he was supposed to deal with Negaduck as well. He’d promised to deal with him the day after the incident, but he just had to get nostalgic about his father and eventually it became several days before he finally realized.

 

Opening his closet, Drake took the suit from the hanger and grabbed his hat, dusting them off. Glancing at the adjacent mirror, he zipped up his suit and discarded his shirt, placing on the gray hat and finishing off with the mask around his eyes. Sighing, Drake headed back to the living room downstairs where the rest of the family sat. All eyes turned to him in his Darkwing Duck costume.

“Dad?”

Drake reached in for a hug as Gosalyn stepped forward from the couch, and he whispered, “Stay safe.”

“What is this about?” Gosalyn urged, “You haven't been Darkwing Duck in days!”

“Don’t tell me you also forgot, Gos,” Drake ruffled Gosalyn’s hair, “I still need to deal with Negaduck.”

Gosalyn’s eyes widened, her voice trembling, “Can I come?”

“No.”

“Of course you’d say no!” Gosalyn grumbled, “But I know I can fight! I can!”

Drake chuckled, “Not just that, Gos. No-one else is joining in for this. It’s Darkwing Duck only.”

Launchpad was next to come forth, “You mean I won’t go, either?”

“No one else is joining,” Drake repeated.

“Why?”

Drake blinked, he wasn’t sure exactly why he wanted to go alone. Perhaps it was a feeling of self-sacrifice, a hero’s sole responsibility to make up for what he didn’t do. It felt like his own fault that Negaduck had broke in, that he hadn’t taken Gosalyn or locked the door properly or had taken any measures to keep the house safe. He opened his beak to give an answer, then shut it quickly when he found he had none.

Drake Sr. stood up from the couch last, taking off his reading glasses as he faced his son, eyes watering. 

“Drakey,” he opened his arms wide.

Drake smiled when he saw his father, accepting the embrace.

“Look at you. You are Darkwing Duck.”

“Thank you, Dad. I guess it’s time to get dangerous, huh?”

The older duck didn’t break the hug, his wrinkles deepening with worry, “Not too dangerous, Drakey. This is real life,” he faced his son, “Are you sure you don’t need help?”

“I’m positive,” Drake whispered, hoping to the stars above that he could somehow actually get by alone.

“Not even any help from Dadwing?” Drake Sr. winked.

Drake snorted, “Only if it’s an emergency. I’ll call you.”

Drake made sure he had his gas-gun and any other weapons ready, checking himself and re-adjusting his hat. Before he headed for the front door, he heard his father’s voice.

“Drakey, Just one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

Drake smiled broadly, “I love you too, Dad.”

Drake had one more thing to say to his family. 

He went in to hug Gosalyn again, cupping her face in his hands, “If I’m not back by tomorrow morning or noon, please come find me. But not alone, you hear? Have Launchpad or Grandpa with you.”

Gosalyn nodded.

 

Drake hopped into his car, looking for the keys and turning on the ignition. He let himself stall as he caught his face in the rearview mirror. Out of curiosity he lifted up his mask, and saw bags starting to form under his eyes, dark circles that hadn’t been there over a week ago, not even a year ago when he first got his movie role. He’d looked as fresh and youthful as possible them, but a year of crime-fighting and worrying seemed to be taking its toll on him already. He sighed and exited the driveway, driving out to the city. 

The sky was pitch-black by the time Darkwing Duck had arrived at the city’s central area. Placing a fresh canister of sleeping gas into his gun, the caped crusader searched around for any sign of his nemesis, his senses on high alert. Most of the lights were off for the night, barring the street lamps lining the roads. The air was cool, a gentle breeze of wind flowed through. There was not much noise, either. Darkwing couldn’t feel at peace, however, this was no time to relax. No time at all.

Darkwing took out his gas gun and aimed it in front of him, calling out, “If you’re there, Negaduck...”

Would he do the flashy entrance? Or perhaps it was too late for him to do so---and he had no audience to show off to. He huffed, looking around the alleys with his grip tight on the gun, squinting in the dark and straining his ears trying to listen for anything that wasn’t a scurrying rat or more wind.

“Come on, you violently vicious villain, come on out,” Darkwing sneaked into one of the alleys, opening a dumpster and moving on when there was only trash.

Footsteps.

Darkwing pressed himself against the brick wall, leaning out precariously to take a peek at whatever the footsteps came from.

Just a passerby. 

Darkwing sighed, readjusting his hat and moving away from the wall. He turned to the next alley. More darkness, more wind and emptiness followed as he walked further into the city, thinking about his family. His father. Gosalyn.

He paused. A new scent, bitter and unforgiving smoke. Gripping the trigger on the gun, Darkwing pointed forward, again calling out to Negaduck. 

More footsteps. Not a passerby. He knew.

A mild grunt and cock of a gun---not his, not a gas gun. Pistol.

Darkwing spun around, so close to pulling the trigger. In front of him, a mirror image. Almost.

Negaduck grinned, hands held tightly around his pistol. 

“Great timing.”


	9. Psycho Holiday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is torture in this. Told you it would get dark.

The wind was picking up now, capes flowing in the night sky, black and purple. The two figures held their guns out at each other, fingers on the triggers, ready to shoot first whenever they could. Staring at each other, hitched breaths from Darkwing and growling from Negaduck.

 

Darkwing shot first. 

 

The gas canister tumbled across the ground and expelled sleeping gas, gray smoke wafting up in the air. Negaduck dodged, holding his breath and changing direction to behind Darkwing instead.

 

Negaduck shot next.

 

The bullet grazed Darkwing’s shoulder. He swore and placed another gas canister in the gun, ignoring the stinging pain. Another pull of the trigger, another dodge from Negaduck, who smiled like he won the lottery, baring his yellowing teeth. The cigarette smell lingered.

 

The wind grew stronger. Stray trails of smoke and sleeping gas mingled, disappearing into the black sky. 

 

Darkwing holstered his gas gun, forming another idea. He stood in a fighting stance. Trying to do martial arts against a gunman seemed like suicide, he knew, but he wasn’t giving up.

 

He slid right under Negaduck and grabbed him by the feet, toppling him over. The pistol flew out of his hands and landed with a  _ bang _ to the ground, firing off a stray bullet. Negaduck snarled, scrambling for his gun, Darkwing held him by the legs and swung him aside, going for the pistol instead.

 

It was compact, but heavy in his hands. Darkwing had never held an  _ actual _ gun before. Only fake ones for acting, and the gas gun. He shakily aimed it at Negaduck, feeling all the weight and bracing for the kick-back. 

 

Negaduck stood up, and he shot.

 

_ Bang! _

 

The other duck screamed in pain, clutching at his leg, looking up at Darkwing with pure fury in his eyes. 

 

Darkwing recoiled at the noise and held his breath. He felt a chill run up his spine and his hands trembling, the gun still aimed at his enemy. His enemy who was struggling to get up and  _ charging _ at him.

 

Negaduck leapt off his feet despite the wounded leg and crashed right into Darkwing, trying to wrangle the gun out of his hands. Darkwing planted a foot on the attacker’s stomach, pushing him off, and turned onto his side to stand up.

 

He felt uneasy with a real gun. Even pointed at his own worst enemy, he couldn’t imagine blowing his brains out.

 

Negaduck delivered a punch to Darkwing’s face and wrestled the gun out of his grip. Pushing Darkwing to his back with his foot, he used his good leg to kneel down on his chest. The wound was still bleeding, his bad leg already feeling numb. 

 

He heard Darkwing groan from the pressure and try to get up. Negaduck took the gun’s handle and cracked it upon his forehead, knocking him unconscious. 

 

Catching his breath, Negaduck hoisted the unconscious Darkwing up onto his back, gritting his teeth as the added weight put pressure on his wounded leg, and trudged towards the nearest manhole. He opened up the cover, tossed Darkwing into the hole, and went in by himself, minding his leg, carrying the body all the way back to his room.

 

When Negaduck arrived, he collapsed onto the mattress, panting heavily. He assessed his wound, the blood had already clotted around the feathers, stained with red. A first-aid kit was available underneath the table, he limped towards the kit and opened it, taking out the contents he needed---gauze and antibiotics. 

 

Darkwing begun to stir.

 

Negaduck applied the antibiotic onto a cotton swab and pressed it against the wound, biting his tongue at the stinging sensation, made sure there was no more bleeding, and wrapped a bandage around the leg. He glanced at Darkwing, who was groaning in pain.

Grabbing a knife from the kit, Negaduck pinned his enemy to the wall and pointed the knife tip right at his throat.

 

“You!” Darkwing spat once he regained consciousness, “How did you---”

 

Darkwing could not say any more as he felt an exploding pain shoot up through his left shoulder, spots forming in his vision. Warm blood spilled in torrents.

 

Feeling like he were made of lead, he gritted his teeth and slumped to the ground. His vision further blurred and distorted, heartbeat slowing, trying to breathe though the shock. 

 

Glancing at his left he could see the knife penetrated deeply in the trapezius muscle, then at Negaduck, smiling cruelly. 

 

Negaduck hoisted Darkwing up and planted him down on the mattress, not caring for the spilt blood or knife left in. Taking out a length of rope from the drawer, he tied up Darkwing’s wrists and ankles and attached the rope to a hook at the end of the mattress, fully restraining him spread-eagle.

 

Darkwing felt the blood drain from his face, his entire left arm going numb. He took in deep breaths as he watched Negaduck lean over him and pull the knife out of the trapezius muscle.

 

 New fire raged through his arm as the knife was torn out, gasping for breath, his lungs raw and aching from the pain. His vision going white, Darkwing tried to turn his head to face Negaduck, when he plunged the knife back into the shoulder, sending him screaming in agony.

 

He soon collapsed into darkness.

  
  


Darkwing awoke to a burning sensation---his left shoulder and trapezius still throbbing with immense pain. He took a deep breath and tried to adjust himself in the restraints, the rope rubbing against his wrists and ankles, and the mattress uncomfortably cold and hard. The rest of his arm was still numb, as if the nerves had been severed---he could hardly move it anymore.

 

Gritting his teeth, he struggled with the ropes, trying to lift himself up, to do  _ anything _ to get out. He spotted Negaduck several feet away from him, sitting idly at the table, watching his every move.

 

“Nega--Negaduck!” Darkwing croaked, his throat raw from screaming.

 

Negaduck smiled, hopping off the table and leaning towards the tortured duck, wiggling the knife’s handle still embedded in his shoulder. Darkwing groaned, his eyes still fixed on Negaduck and trying desperately to ignore the raging pain.

 

“Wh-why are you,” he breathed in deeply, “Why?”

 

Negaduck flashed him a sly grin, pulling out the knife once again and cleaning the blood off with his cape. Darkwing shrieked, more hot fire coursing through his shoulder, regaining some of the sensation lost in his left arm. Negaduck glanced at him, watching him shudder through the pain.

 

“You don’t remember, huh?”

 

Darkwing growled at him, “O-of course...of course I do.”

 

Negaduck prodded the knife tip at Darkwing’s neck, hissing, “Tell me.”

 

“The--the break in, you...broke into my---my house,” Darkwing’s throat was burning, he coughed violently afterwards, phlegm rising in his throat.

 

Negaduck rolled his eyes, “No, _ Dipwing _ . Before that.”

 

“Wha-what?”

 

Negaduck aimed the knife at Darkwing’s face, cutting off the fabric of his mask and exposing his eyes, “Are you  _ sure _ you don’t remember, you idiot?”

 

The knife tip was precariously close between Darkwing’s eyes, ready to plunge in at any moment---his breath hitched as the fabric had been torn off. He flushed, opening and closing his beak trying to find anything else to say.

 

More spots filled his vision as Negaduck whacked him in the face, and again. Pain started to blossom in his cheeks, wincing as he bit down on his tongue. He looked back to Negaduck, who was frowning.

 

“Whatever happened to Jim Starling, huh?” Negaduck leaned in closely, spitting in Darkwing’s face, “It’s never anything about him anymore. Only Darkwing. Only  _ you _ ...”

 

“Wha--”

 

Negaduck clamped Darkwing’s beak shut, “I didn’t  _ say _ you could answer yet!”

 

He continued, “A little girl was here earlier, I invited her over...Stubborn little thing, though!”

 

Darkwing snarled at his, did he mention  _ Gosalyn _ ? Was that why she---

 

Negaduck jabbed his elbow between Darkwing’s ribs, knocking out all his wind. His elbow stayed firmly between the ribs as he glared at him, “Don’t you get it now,  _ Drakey _ ? A year ago. A whole  _ damn _ year ago.”

 

Darkwing’s lungs were now on fire. Coupled up with all the other pain he had, he could barely speak. Hearing Negaduck use his father’s name for him---his  _ pet name _ , what Drake Sr. would always call him in such a sweet tone---it fueled his fury and he struggled against the restraints once more. He had no time to wonder how Negaduck even knew of this name in the first place, pulling against the ropes cutting into his wrists and ankles more and more.

 

Negaduck slammed a fist against Darkwing’s chest, again expelling whatever oxygen he had left in his aching lungs. Darkwing coughed harshly, his eyes watering and his throat burning so much he could hardly speak.

 

“Give up already?” Negaduck sneered, “I thought you were supposed to be incredibly  _ resilient _ ,” he pierced Darkwing’s beak with the tip of his knife, “I’d hate having to explain everything to you by myself. Surely you know some of the answers.”

 

Negaduck glided the knife over Darkwing’s beak, reaching the broad upper area, piercing into it and eliciting a  _ crack  _ as the knife sliced its way through the keratin, slicing and slicing, with Darkwing hissing in agony, pulling at his restraints yet again.

 

From the angle he was at, Darkwing could just barely make out the slashes Negaduck had carved into his beak---a crude, jagged star. Tears poured out of his eyes as he tore his gaze from the star shape and up at Negaduck, who had taken off his hat in the process.


	10. Still Of The Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uughghhgh i am so tired lmao enjoy this

Darkwing would have been foolish to think that Gosalyn had obeyed him and stayed right under the bed covers. Of course she wasn’t going to stay.

 

Gosalyn tied one end of her blanket to the desk, threw the rest of it over the window

and climbed down into the front yard. She headed for her bicycle, mounted it and rode in the direction of the city and swerved through the roads, avoiding near hits with cars as she zoomed past.

 

Blackness enveloped Gosalyn as she entered the city’s center, the lights all shut off leaving only lingering street lamps and moonlight. The wind picked up, delivering a gentle breeze through the air, its whistling the only sound she could hear. Gosalyn gulped, shaking her head and dismounting her bicycle, and walked towards the alleys. 

 

She wished she had a baseball bat with her. Or a flashlight.

 

Nothing in the alleys, either. It seemed like there were no signs of Darkwing or Negaduck anywhere, until Gosalyn spotted a flash of purple from the corner of her eye. She ran over to it, knowing that purple equals Darkwing equals Dad, and checked to see what it was. A gas canister, no doubt---and she knew Darkwing carried a gas gun. That was the first clue, now she had to find more...

 

Blood. Her heart nearly stopped, the sight of blood on the ground just around the canister, leaving off to a path, a trail of blood. And there was more, more red leading  _ somewhere _ . 

 

Where?   
  
To an open manhole cover.

 

Fear washed through Gosalyn as she recalled her last encounter with Negaduck and how he’d grabbed her down into the sewers, into his room, and kept there overnight for whatever reason. Manholes led to sewers.

 

Gosalyn gulped down the bile rising up her throat and held her breath as she climbed down the ladder into the sewers.

 

She recalled the musty-water smell now enveloping her nostrils, and the darkness of the sewers growing darker as the tunnels extended far beyond. Which way was Negaduck’s room? She looked down for any clues, and when there were none, she squinted forward. She listened harder, sniffed harder, tried to utilize all her senses at once.

 

A different scent. Not sewer water, but something like old cigarette smoke---like the ones she’d caught an unfortunate whiff of at the mall. She could smell it from beyond her, another lingering clue. Trying not to gag from the stench, Gosalyn ran towards the direction of the cigarette smell. The smell of blood lingered, too, it grew and grew as she came closer to what was presumably Negaduck’s room, in that direction. The blood stench grew powerful. Bitter and pungent and revolting. There had to be  _ so much _ of it.

 

Icy-cold chills ran up her spine, her legs nearly gave out---that smell of blood. Something terrible must have been going on. She’d seen real blood before, in her cuts and scrapes from rough housing and playing sports. Just skinned knees and papercuts, but it’d never been enough that she could  _ smell _ it.

 

She debated on continuing. The smell of blood meant her father was likely there, but it also meant that he was hurt. She was unarmed, totally vulnerable and Negaduck probably had his chainsaw stashed somewhere. The thought of seeing her father in pain...

 

Gosalyn ran off in the opposite direction, all the way back up the manhole, to the city’s center, backtracking her steps with fervor, mounting her bicycle again and heading home. Only one thing was on her mind, and that was,  _ dad’s hurt. _

  
  


Back home, the only entrance was up the open window to her room, she couldn’t climb up there with only a blanket and flimsy support---it worked going down, but not going up, she’d known this via trial and error. Instead, she got up on her tricycle and climbed over the fence into the backyard, there she opened the back door into the kitchen and promptly sped upstairs in the direction of Launchpad’s room.

 

The hulking duck’s peaceful slumber was promptly interrupted by Gosalyn’s frantic and pleading voice, saying something between “Dad’s hurt!” and “Negaduck!” and even threw in a slip of the tongue with “Negadad!”.

 

Launchpad mumbled, still in a trance from awakening in the middle of a dream. He wasn’t sure which way was which yet, or why Gosalyn was crying or why he didn’t go to Drake Sr. instead---

 

“Launchpad!”

 

Gosalyn stomped on his foot, sending him briefly howling with pain before finally coming to his senses, and he looked down to see the little girl, with her big, reddened, furious eyes.

 

“Darkwing’s hurt! Dad’s hurt and Negaduck has him!”

 


	11. Living On A Prayer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i almost forgot to post lmao

Drake Sr. was wide-awake when Gosalyn and Launchpad barged into his room---he hadn’t slept a wink since his son left as Darkwing Duck, off to fight a dangerous criminal.

He’d worried Drake would be in trouble. His fears were confirmed.

 

Gosalyn pushed him away as he leaned in for a supportive hug and asked what was going on

 

“It’s Drake,” Launchpad responded, his hands balled in tight fists, “Something happened.”

 

Drake Sr. felt an incredible weight pull down on him, starting at his chest and reaching down to his knees, as if he were about to collapse. He shook his head and put on his robe, heading downstairs.

 

 There was another car, Drake Sr.’s, available in the driveway, and he offered the keys to Launchpad, putting trust in him.

 

Launchpad grabbed the keys and hopped into the driver’s seat. Drake Sr. took the back seat next to Gosalyn, feeling pity as she wiped away tears. 

 

“Now, where did you say he could be?” Drake Sr. asked. Gosalyn looked away from him.

 

“He’s your father and my son, he’s equally important to both of us. We can’t---”

 

“You’re still not my grandpa.”

 

Drake Sr. blinked, “Wha-what?”

 

“You can’t be my grandpa. He’s dead.”

 

“Look, that isn’t important right now---I’m so sorry---”

 

Gosalyn scrunched up her face, looking furious despite the tears, “Why are you trying to act like you know me?”

 

“Can’t you give me a chance? I might not be related to you by blood, but neither is Drakey.”

“Dad didn’t come out of nowhere at the front door. He saved my life. He adopted me!”

 

Drake held out a hand and gently rubbed Gosalyn’s cheek, wiping away her tears, “And don’t you want to save him in return, too? That’s why you came to us.”

 

Gosalyn shivered beneath his touch. She started to cry harder, curling up and looking mad at herself for being so vulnerable. Drake Sr. understood. He’d seen his son this way before.

 

He hoped Drake wasn’t dead now.

 

 Only silence remained as they entered the city center, all three getting out of the car, Drake Sr. helping Gosalyn down the step as Launchpad scanned over the city.

 

“So, where did you find him?” Launchpad asked.

 

Though her tears, Gosalyn pointed out to where exactly she had found the gas canister and trail of blood leading down the manhole. Drake Sr. gritted his teeth at the sight of blood, growing more frantic as he pulled the manhole cover open. Gosalyn held on to Launchpad. They headed down the ladder into the sewers one at a time.

 

Drake Sr. had never been in the sewers before. He’d described them in his stories only because he saw movies and read books detailing them. He’d never known the  _ actual _ musty-water smell or the slippery darkness of the tunnels. He looked to Gosalyn for more directions; she had been here before and knew more about it than he’d ever researched himself. He wished for a moment that he’d called the police instead of bothering to come down here, but it was evident his love for his son was too strong to leave it up to strangers, authority or not.

 

He shivered as his feet reached the cold water, the murky green-gray going up to his knees. He could smell the sour odor of the sewers, but that was not all, there was another scent mingled in---cigarette smoke. Conspicuous cigarette smoke lingered through the sewers like it were purposefully trying to lead the visitors towards the source.

“Down there, huh?”

 

Gosalyn nodded. She puffed out her chest and trudged on despite her obvious fears, with the other two following behind. Drake Sr.’s spine ran cold as he followed Gosalyn’s lead, fearing for not only his son’s life, but potentially whatever could happen to the little girl if Negaduck had gotten his hands on her.

 

The little girl who still gave him the cold shoulder despite his best efforts. He saw those moments of faltering in-between where she...hadn’t fully rejected his affection, so there had to be a chance. Had to be. 

 

Back to his son. Drake. Drakey. He could smell blood now the further he walked into the tunnel, he could smell the cigarette smoke and blood, his mind went far back ahead, somewhere deep within his memories.

 

Papercuts, nosebleeds, skinned knees. Never really smelled. He hadn’t noticed. He knew blood had a smell but never smelled  _ enough _ to notice.  

 

Further and further, he could now hear  _ things _ . Clearly not from above-ground, because he could hear them directly ahead, he saw Gosalyn shiver and back up.

 

And he could hear the screams.

 

That sent him running ahead, far ahead from the others, yelling his son’s name and not paying attention to anything else, nearly stumbling into the water in his panic and hardly noticing that Gosalyn and Launchpad too were calling out for him. Drake Sr. shouted and shouted his name until his throat was raw and his eyes red from crying, he ran ahead.

 

He stopped in his tracks when he saw a faint light emanating from the next area in the tunnel, another piercing scream and the smell of blood, fresh. A shadow loomed over, he could barely make out a figure with some sort of weapon, and the area opened up to a makeshift room--or something resembling a room, anyhow. The screams subsided, ending with a sharp exhale and whine. 

 

Drake Sr.’s legs felt heavy as he walked forward, again fearing the worst that his son could be truly dead. He hadn’t raised Drake Mallard Jr. since he was an egg for nothing.

 

“Drakey?” He held his breath, taking one more step ahead before stopping.

 

The figure brandishing a weapon moved, its head turning towards the source of the voice. It flashed a grin, with blazing green-blue eyes.

 

Drake Sr. slowly raised his fists. He knew he had nothing else in hand, he wasn’t even a skilled fighter and only knew a few moves from his research and watching Darkwing Duck. Literally, a sitting duck. Nevertheless, he wasn’t about to back down.

 

“Dad.”

 

That wasn’t from Drakey. 

 

Negaduck stepped out of the light, twirling a bloodied knife in his hands, looking Drake Sr. up and down with interest. He didn’t look back at Drake, Jr.

 

“How did you find me?” Negaduck narrowed his eyes, pointing the knife tip right at the older duck. Gosalyn hid behind Launchpad.

 

“Where is he?”

 

“I asked you a question first, _ Dad _ .”

 

Drake Sr. stepped forward, staring directly into Negaduck’s eyes, “I’m not your father.”

 

“I know,” Negaduck smiled, flashing sharp yellowed teeth, twirling his knife again, “You’re not going to tell me how you found me?”

 

“ _ I _ did!” Gosalyn stepped out from behind Launchpad, jutting out her lower beak, “I did because Dad left me clues! And so did you!”

 

Negaduck looked over to her, pursing his lips, “I remember you.”

 

“Don’t play with me!” Drake Sr. grabbed him by the collar, ignoring the knife inevitably poised to stab him, “Where’s my son?! Where’s Drakey?!”

 

Negaduck motioned over to behind his shoulder, “Not far back. He’s truly resilient, but I wish he’d stay awake for longer.”

 

“What did you---” The words Drake Sr. were trying to find were stolen right out of his mouth as he could see where Negaduck pointed out, the light glowing softly upon his son lying prone on a ruined mattress.

 

He froze.

 

Negaduck laughed.

 

Launchpad motioned for Gosalyn to hide behind the desk for safety as he rushed forward to the mattress where Darkwing was strapped to, shouting at him if he was okay, or even alive at all.

 

Drake Sr. clocked the opposing duck square in the jaw, sending him stumbling over into the water. His fists shook.

 

“What did you  _ do _ ?”

 

“What I’ve been wanting to for a long time.”

 

He kicked Negaduck to position him on his back and pressed a foot against his chest, “What did you do, Negaduck?”

 

Instead of answering, Negaduck pulled his knife and stabbed the other’s foot, sending him recoiling, when the foot was off he scrambled back up, noticing his own bad leg all the while.

 

Drake Sr. dangled his now-bleeding foot above the water, using the wall to support himself, he found a platform raised above the water which he immediately hopped over to, watching Negaduck. He was closer to his son than ever. 

 

Drake Sr, tried to avoid taking a glance at whatever condition his son was in, focusing on Negaduck’s knife instead. On the platform, he found a piece of rebar and held it tightly in his hands, motioning Negaduck to come over.

 

Negaduck grinned, with his knife brandished and the blood on it glittering in the faint light. Drake Sr. bit his tongue though the pain and whacked the piece of rebar at Negaduck, trying to dodge his knife attacks at the same time.

 

Having reached Darkwing, Launchpad checked for a pulse---slow, weak, but it was  _ there _ . He exhaled deeply, trying not to retch at the sight of blood and injury as he undid the restraints around Darkwing’s ankles and wrists, afterwards lifting him up from the mattress, blood dripping into his jacket. That would take a very long time to wash off. He looked around for an exit, trying to find whatever source the light came from.

 

Gosalyn watched the battle from under the desk, trying to keep her focus on the fight and not on her father. As her eyes darted back and forth, she tried to come up with a way she could stop Negaduck, and help out Drake Sr.

 

It was odd; a duck she had little regard for and felt like was replacing her  _ real _ grandfather, yet she wanted to help him. Maybe it was that heroic instinct rubbed off from her father’s time as Darkwing, or maybe it was deep-seated family instinct. She gagged at that second notion, there was  _ no way _ she’d let herself get soft like that.

 

But, then again...

 

She saw a first-aid kit right underneath the desk, and an idea popped into her head. Despite her shaking body and tears she lifted up the kit as much as she could, and swung it at Negaduck’s head.

 

He dropped like a rock. Drake Sr. froze with the rebar in hand, looking down at Negaduck, then at Gosalyn. He couldn’t think of anything to say.

 

“Don’t--don’t thank me!” Gosalyn cried.

 

“There’s another opening!” Launchpad called out, Darkwing lifted up on his back, “Hurry!”

 

When Drake Sr. looked back to where Negaduck had fallen, he found him running---more like limping---off into the distance.

 

_ Coward _ .

 

Drake Sr. looked away from the tunnels and ran up the ladder, out of the manhole.

 

“I’m getting the car!” 

 

Launchpad and Gosalyn hardly had to wait a minute before they could hear the revving engine and rumbling above. Launchpad first lifted Darkwing---carefully--- up the manhole for Drake Sr. to take him in, then let Gosalyn go next, and finally himself. 

 

“How much blood?!” Drake Sr. started the car.

 

“How do I know? I’m a pilot, not a doctor!”

 

“Never mind that!”

 

If any police officers were hanging around, they would have surely noticed the car going far above the speed limit as it rushed towards the hospital, but there were none.

 


	12. A Single Tear

One immediate problem with bringing Darkwing---or Drake---into the emergency room was the fact that he was still in costume. His family was now tasked with ensuring that his identity was not revealed. Taking off the hat and mask was a simple enough task, but trying to take off the cape and trench coat would be a different story.

 

Launchpad unbuttoned Darkwing’s coat, opening it up to reveal his heavily blood-stained teal turtleneck. He tried not to gag and fumbled over removing the sleeves without further aggravating the injuries. He decided on slowly sliding his arms out of the sleeves one by one, wiggling the trenchcoat out of the way, taking the cape with it as well. Now, Darkwing Duck was just Drake Mallard in a bloodied teal sweater. Launchpad could see how severely he had been injured, how much blood he’d lost, and felt woozy, closing his eyes. He reminded himself that he had to do this, not just for Drake Sr., but most importantly for the safety and health of his close partner.

 

All evidence of Drake’s identity as Darkwing Duck were stashed underneath the car seats as Drake Sr. pulled up to the emergency drop-off, rushing into the ER with his son in Launchpad’s arms, and Gosalyn trailing behind. Nurses darted in and out, strapping Drake onto the gurney, calling for blood bags and morphine.

 

Another nurse ordered the family to stay in the waiting room until Drake’s condition had been stabilized. 

 

“If I have to sleep overnight here, I will.” Drake Sr was about to stomp his foot down before he realized, and gritted his teeth, “Or, I have to stay anyway. My son’s not the only one with injuries here.”

  
  


The heart monitor beeped at a steady pace as Drake stirred in his bed, slowly coming to despite the powerful sedative effects of morphine. He was groggy---everything felt heavy. Everything, including his own feathers, seemed to weigh him down tremendously. He could smell the faint hints of various chemicals, sharp and bitter. His vision remained fuzzy as he tried to look around his surroundings. 

 

Pristine white ceiling, wall-mounted TV, blood, and IV bags. He knew where he was. 

 

Remembering what had happened that night he’d been attacked and kidnapped, Drake’s eyes widened as he recalled Negaduck looming over him with the knife, restraining him on the mattress, carving a star shape into his beak. His eyes traveled downwards to spot a large bandage covering his marred beak. There were more bandages, and multiple stitches running through his torso; namely a large series of sutures between his neck and left shoulder.

 

 It hurt. Despite all the painkillers, his body still hurt tremendously. 

 

He should have died, but Darkwing Duck was too stubborn to die.

 

And just who found---

  
“Drakey?”

 

Drake flinched, expecting Negaduck to strike again and inflict even more pain than ever, but he only saw his father in the corner of his eye. A blurry image which cleared to show that Drake Sr. wasn’t alone either; Gosalyn and Launchpad were there as well. Raw pain seared through his neck again as he turned to see the others better, the movement pulling at his fresh stitches and bandages. His head was still swimming. There were many things he wanted to say but could not bring himself to speak. His father placed a hand to his forehead, giving him a soft, sad smile that tried its best to reassure him. Drake didn’t have to say anything right now. Gosalyn held his hand, her eyes big and red from crying.

 

Drake’s head swam with a tingling sensation, dark spots in his vision appearing as the weighted feeling increased and he fell back to sleep.

 

...

 

He awoke again in that same room, fear gripping him this time as he choked out a cry interrupted by his father’s gentle shushing, a soft hand on his head again. Drake wasn’t sure what it was he’d seen in his nightmare---Negaduck, knife, blood, sewers. Jim Starling?

 

His head throbbed with pain; he wanted to slip back into unconsciousness but feared seeing Negaduck again. Negaduck. Right. He wanted to tell them what he’d found out, yet he had no energy or composure to do so. His voice would not go further than a soft whine.

 

As his mind and vision continued to clear up, Drake noticed two things: First, his father was seated on a stool with his foot bandaged up, and second, Launchpad’s jacket had traces of blood on it---Drake hoped it wasn’t his own, but judging by the blood bag, that hope was dashed. Gosalyn called for him and hugged his arm, minding the bandages.

 

 Drake Sr. kept that warm smile on his face, despite his obvious concern, a smile Drake had found comfort in for as long as he could remember. The fact that his family had done all this work to get him patched up soothed his frayed nerves. 

 

He felt safe; physically, at least. In his mind? Negaduck was still there.  _ Jim Starling _ was there.

 

“Gos,” he spoke at last, “Gosalyn… how...?”

 

“You, uh, told me to come… If there was a problem,” she stammered, wiping away her tears, “I didn’t go alone.”

 

“You weren’t injured, were you?” Drake could feel himself regaining some strength. “He didn’t… hurt you?”

 

“Nope.”

 

Drake sighed deeply in relief. That was good news at least; not a single bruise on his little girl. He’d never forgive himself if she’d been hurt.

 

“She found you, and came to us for help. I thank her for that.” Drake Sr. scooted forward in his seat. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Not good,” Drake sighed. It caused him too much pain to even speak or move too much. At least he was safe and sound now, surrounded by his family. They found him, and they saved him.

 

He thought about Negaduck again, his mind briefly going back to the torture before he shut it out, releasing a pained whimper. He wanted to ask where Negaduck was, wanted to tell them about Jim Starling; his heart hammered against his chest, putting further strain to his already weakened state. He had to tell them  _ something _ .

 

Drake Sr. noticed his son’s panic, and kissed him on the forehead. “You’re going to be okay.”

 

Drake paused, trying to even out his breathing. It hurt his lungs. Everything hurt again.

 

“Am I?”

 

The older duck’s eyebrows lowered. “Absolutely. Don’t worry. Leave this to the police next time. You need to recuperate. You’re my son, and I’m not letting you get hurt… not anymore.”

 

Drake struggled to smile. He wanted to say ‘thank you’, he wanted to say something about Negaduck, but he couldn’t. Instead, he reached out for his father’s hand.

 

He felt weak. It may have been the blood loss and injury and being pumped full of morphine, sure, but there were other ways that he felt weak, too.

 

He felt weak for nearly succumbing to Negaduck’s torture.

 

He felt weak for struggling so hard to tell his family how grateful he was for rescuing him, to spill out his feelings, and of course, to tell them what he’d found out about Negaduck.

 

His mind was fraught with thoughts and emotions, but his body refused to let him talk.

“I’m sorry,” was all he said.

 

 Drake Sr. held on to his hand and whispered, “You don’t have to be.”

 

Launchpad patted Drake Sr.’s back and nodded, prompting the older duck to move aside so he could have space.

 

“Leave it to us next time, DW. We’ll figure out something to do about Negaduck.”

 

Drake’s eyes widened, his sore muscles tensing as he raised a hand towards Launchpad’s stained jacket, gripping it and pleading, “No.”

 

Negaduck. Oh, what he would do to his family. Drake couldn’t handle the thought.

 

“Please, don’t,” he wheezed, “don’t.”

 

The blood loss mixed with his heart’s pounding was  _ not  _ a good combination. Drake’s breathing quickened until he was nearly hyperventilating, his eyes darting back and forth. He cursed his own body for being so weak now when his mind was going haywire.

 

“Why not?” Launchpad asked, his eyebrows creased up in worry.

 

“It’s Jim.” 


	13. A Touch Of Evil

“Jim!”

 

Negaduck ran.

 

Basil’s wheezing roars echoed throughout the sewers, his presence seemingly everywhere, yelling his son’s name with such fury.

 

“Jim!”

 

His head throbbed. That little brat had managed to knock him unconscious, he’d hoped to get some sense in her or even talk with her, but nope, she had to do things the hard way. But that wasn’t of any importance  _ now _ . Not compared to Basil.

 

The tunnels were endless, stretching out far and wide beyond Negaduck’s senses, dark and damp and dirty. He had learned to memorize the sewers, to map out St. Canard’s underground sewage system so he never had the chance to get lost after all, he  _ lived _ here. And yet there he was, now nothing more than a rabbit in a shadowy, unfamiliar wood, chased by a great wolf.

 

He could still hear his father’s calls as he turned a corner, stopping at a fork in the tunnels in order to catch his breath.

 

 An advantage to the sewers was that it was normally rather quiet, in addition to being nearly pitch-black when no manhole covers were available above ground; this meant he had every chance to conceal himself in the sewers when he could, disappearing into the murky green-black shadows. 

 

But how could he do the same with a ghost? They seemed to have an all-knowing air to them, they knew where you went at any moment. Nonetheless he remained silent, trying to slow down his breathing as he backed up against a wall with his cape covering his conspicuously colorful coat and his hat lowered.

 

The knife.

 

He remembered he still had a knife. 

 

No, it would be useless. It wouldn’t even  _ intimidate  _ Basil.

 

The echoing calls stopped.

 

Negaduck didn’t want to take any chances, taking a deep breath and exhaling as he looked around the corner of the tunnel. 

 

No trace of an apparition. Coast clear? 

 

He could run more, but this meant further noises with the splashing of water and his footsteps clanking against the metal ground, any noise he made, Basil would hear. He was already out of breath, too, and the wounded leg---he’d nearly forgotten---it throbbed, dull pain reaching out to his thigh and foot. 

 

Walk. He could try walking. Maybe Basil wouldn’t be able to sense him.

 

Holding on to his cape, he leaned off from the wall and stepped forward. No clank, tiny splash. 

 

Take it easy.

 

Ahead of him was yet more darkness, more of that ever-reaching black void he’d gotten used to seeing in his travels down the sewers. He couldn’t tell where he was---that was a first. He made a mental note to map it out later when he had the chance.

 

Deep breath. Again.

 

There was no sudden drop in temperature. Still quiet.

 

 A rumble overhead jolted him. He reminded himself it was only a car. 

 

Keep walking.

 

The leg continued to ache, although the pain was now dull and slowly throbbing rather than the sharp stabbing sensation he’d felt before.

 

His heart was thudding against his chest with such force that he thought he’d die of a heart attack---he gripped his chest and muttered a curse under his breath. His heart kept beating loudly, ringing in his ears, a sensation he absolutely did not want to feel---it made him feel  _ puny _ .

 

There were no indicators of light or above-head manhole covers in the distance, nothing that could suggest an escape into the outdoors. Damned if he ended up in the middle of a crowd,  _ anything _ was better than having to confront his father’s vengeful ghost.

 

Why, oh why, did it have to end up this way?

 

He could be anywhere. Basil knew all of Negaduck’s weaknesses, and gained some strengths himself.

 

Taking tiny steps forward, further into the darkness, Negaduck’s heart continued pounding. He held his knife tightly despite knowing how futile it would be against his father, sucking in breaths through his teeth, trying to tone down his limping.

 

He looked around corners of each fork in the tunnel or connecting sewer, checking the air for any drop in temperature that would indicate paranormal activity, sniffing occasionally to see if he could catch a whiff of cigarette smoke.

 

He’d remembered how Basil had thrown him against a wall so effortlessly, just like that. Chasing him. Tormenting him. Basil simply watched as his son tortured Drake, too.

 

 The fear of being near Basil was still there, but Negaduck could never risk showing that in front of his victim. Looking weak in front of those he’d captured and sought out to terrorize personally, it was too humiliating.

 

A ghost.  

 

If his father was alive instead, he’d be so easy to kill. 

 

Negaduck had never gone to see him when he was dying, never went to his funeral, wanted to shut him out of his life. But, there he was again, returning from the depths of Hell. 

 

How long had he been on earth for?

 

Bracing for the unknown, Negaduck quickened his pace, focusing his eyes directly ahead of him. 

 

No time to lose. Keep going through the tunnels. Eventually find an opening.

 

_ Why _ had he run in the first place? First of all, the family already took Drake from him, and the little girl so easily knocked him out that he hardly had a chance. And second---his father, of course.

 

Basil had watched. He’d only stood there and watched, not doing  _ anything _ to help, not that Negaduck would have expected him to do so anyhow. But, when he bolted, Basil took off as well, yelling at him, seemingly just out of reach for him to grab Negaduck and pull him back. 

 

Basil called him a coward. 

 

The nerve. 

 

The water came to a still. Still no sign of any sort of escape---did Basil somehow block them all off? How was that possible?

 

 Negaduck had never felt uncomfortable or unsafe in the sewers before, he’d accepted it as his new home ever since the explosion, the only place he could even afford to live in anymore. Now, it was so different to him. The walls seemed to be closing in.

 

Cold air. Negaduck’s heart leaped into his throat, his head whipping around to find any sort of shadow of his father---long and sharp. He’d seen the shadow so many times when Basil was still alive.

 

He thought he saw one, at least, a shadow or something  _ like _ a shadow on the wall adjacent from him. 

 

Wait.

 

Can’t have shadows without light.

 

Negaduck took a deep breath and chuckled to himself. Of course, no shadows without light. Basil---or something else---had blocked out all the manhole covers. Couldn’t have any shadows.

 

That’s when the cigarette smell came in.

 

His heart was positively flipping out, his knees buckled, frozen in fear. Sweat crept down his temples, a lump forming in his throat as he pointed the knife out in front of him. 

 

Useless knife.

 

He looked up. 

 

Throat tightening, entire body growing cold and aching, his eyes stuck wide-open like a deer in the proverbial headlights.

 

He knew he could never escape.

 

“Jimmy.”

 

Negaduck stalled.

 

_ He _ was up there. Floating directly above him, with arms behind his back and a cold, malicious smile on his face. 

 

Negaduck hated that smile, nothing good ever came out of it. 

 

“You ran away from me.” Basil stated.

 

Basil drifted downwards, taking his cold, cigarette-odor air with him, staring into Negaduck’s eyes, “Again. Can’t you try something  _ new?” _

 

“Ho-how am I supposed to?” Negaduck stammered, knife still poised. 

 

Basil looked down at the knife and nonchalantly put his hand through it.

 

“How do you kill a ghost? You’ve seen the movies,” he watched as his son trembled with the knife in his grasp, “You don’t kill them with physical objects, Jimmy.”

 

Negaduck cleared his throat and growled, giving his father a sizeable glower, “What is it that you want from me? I got Drake Mallard, I tortured him in front of you, I---”

 

“You failed,” Basil scoffed, “His family found out, all because you left such messy clues. And you ran away. What do you have to say to your father about that, hm?”

 

“How long have you been watching me, anyway? How long have you been around?!”

 

“Long enough,” A cigarette materialized in Basil’s hand, and he placed it in his mouth. It seemed to light up all on its own.

 

“Why do you---why do you even care what I’m doing now? How is it relevant to you?”

 

“I never cared about that Drake kid. I wanted to see what you were capable of doing, and I’m rather disappointed at the results.”

 

Negaduck blinked, unable to say anything else as the only noise that came out of his mouth was a confused, “Hmmh?”

 

“I thought you’d do better than resort to violence,” Basil puffed, “I thought you’d grown up past that. No. You never really changed.”

 

He glanced at Negaduck’s costume, “Except for your taste in clothing, perhaps.”

 

Negaduck ignored that comment, “Then why didn’t you do anything? Why did you stand there and watch me torture him? What do you want me to do?!”

 

“You’re asking a lot of questions, Jimmy. It’s dreadfully boring,” Basil sighed.

 “And some questions, I feel, don’t need answers.”

 

Negaduck snarled, attempting to at Basil with the knife but instead stabbing it into the adjacent wall, his eyes wide.

 

“Did you forget already?” Basil said from behind, “I’m dead, Jim.”

 

“Go away!” Negaduck hissed.

 

“If that’s what you want, Jimmy,” Basil hovered above, back into the ceiling, “I’ll see if you learn to control yourself.”

 

Negaduck wanted to fire back at him, to tell his father to stop calling him  _ that name _ , to retaliate, but was struck by a feeling of paralysis which overtook his entire body. 

 

He couldn’t see Basil anymore.

 

The air was growing colder, goosebumps formed under his feathers, his teeth chattered and his body tingled with thousands of little needles jabbing under his skin at once. He tried to scream, but nothing came out of his throat, only half a cry before he collapsed to the ground, splashing around in the water and gasping for breath.

 

He couldn’t see him. No sign. 

 

No sign except for the cigarette smoke and the cold---his entire body was a block of ice: slippery, frigid and barely moving. 

 

He vomited.

 

All the contents of his stomach spilled right out of his beak and into the sewage, intensifying the stench and making him lightheaded. He stumbled backwards, panting heavily as he could finally regain some movement in his body. The smell was still there. He was still so, very cold.

 

Negaduck gripped his head, now developing a headache just to add on to the injured leg and terror he’d felt. For a second, he seemed to forget where he was.

 

It was so quiet in here. So dark.

 

He looked at the knife in his shaking hand, and back up the tunnels. Keep moving.

 

He wasn’t sure whatever it was in his head that told him to keep moving deeper in the tunnels, but it certainly wasn’t his conscience.

 


	14. Hang On To Your Love

Launchpad stood bewildered as Drake said those words,  _ “It’s Jim” _ , at first unsure of what he meant by Jim.

 

 Jim Starling?

 

“But,” Launchpad stammered, “He’s been dead for over a year!”

 

Drake shook his head, “No! Jim...he’s Negaduck.”

 

Silence fell in the room. Drake still held on to Launchpad’s jacket while the others gazed at him, all processing this news with varying degrees of confusion.

 

“What are you...Do you need more rest?” Drake Sr. asked, placing his hand on Drake’s forehead and checking his temperature, “You’re not feverish.”

  
  


Drake grumbled, trying to muster up whatever strength he had left to prove to them what he’d seen, “I’m not lying. Jim’s not dead.”

 

“Drakey...”

 

Drake felt around the top of his beak and contemplated tearing the bandaging off and revealing his star-shaped scar, muttering at himself. 

 

Drake Sr. tried calming him down, and when efforts were futile, went to call in a nurse.

 

Several days passed. 

  
  


Hospital bathrooms were impeccably clean, Drake thought, the staff always seemed to know how to scrub every square inch of the room. If he were in the mood, he would have admired how pleasant it was and not like a dingy gas station bathroom, but that wasn’t important---why was he thinking it in the first place?

 

Right. 

 

Leaning closer towards the mirror, Drake inspected the jagged star-shape scar etched on the top of his beak. The doctors did their best at patching it up, but there was still evidence of it being right  _ there _ , both physical and mental. Dark circles ringed around his eyes, showing a lack of sleep and haggardness that wasn’t present before. His cheek feathers were tousled up and scruffy as well, not neatly combed like they used to be. 

 

What a sad sight. 

 

It was a nightmare after nightmare, he never seemed to stay  _ asleep _ those nights, no matter how much his father tried to console him. Once he’d regained enough strength to walk, getting around the hospital area was a chore by itself. He dreaded anybody seeing him like this instead of what people envisioned Darkwing Duck, and Drake Mallard as an  _ actor _ , to be like.

 

Thankfully through, nobody seemed to mind. Perhaps he was just being paranoid---he hadn’t felt paranoid before. Not in a long time. 

 

Maybe, Drake thought, maybe he shouldn’t have gone to Negaduck in the first place at all. It would have spared the torture, the nightmares, and most of all the revelation---Jim was out there and was alive, but not in a way anybody would have hoped.

 

Sighing, Drake looked away from the mirror and came face-to-face with his father. Neither of them looked happy, and neither of them seemed to want to talk about anything happy.

 

“Drakey, I...” Drake Sr’s eyes instinctively trailed down to the scar on his son’s beak, “I’m sorry.”

 

“What? What are you sorry about?”

 

The older duck closed his eyes and exhaled, placing a hand on Drake’s shoulder, “Is it okay if we talk?”

 

Drake shrugged, seeing as there wasn’t much else to do. He’d been with his family in the hospital’s cafeteria and courtyard many times, and was frankly getting tired of seeing the same place. Even Gosalyn was getting bored.

 

“Oh, Drakey, look at you,” Drake Sr. said,  “Just a few days ago we were having breakfast. Now look what happened.”

 

Drake didn’t say a word.

 

“It’s not your fault. That’s not why I wanted to talk to you,” Drake Sr. took a seat in the stool, motioning his son to sit in bed, “I wanted to talk about Negaduck.”

 

The scar on Drake’s beak stung. Whether if it was a coincidence or a result of hearing the word  _ Negaduck _ , he didn’t know. He just knew it couldn’t lead to a good conversation.

 

 Eyes downcast, Drake mumbled, “Okay.”

 

“A couple days ago you said, I don’t know if it was the morphine acting up, but you said you thought Jim Starling was Negaduck?”

 

“He is.”

 

“I’m very sorry, Drakey, but I have a hard time understanding what you mean, or even believing you. I  _ want _ to believe, because maybe there is something you know about him that I don’t, but it’s...difficult.”

 

“Why is it?” Drake asked.

 

“Like I said, you probably know him better than I ever will, but when you last described Jim Starling to me, he didn’t sound that bad.”

 

Drake closed his eyes. He’d purposefully left out some key details about Jim Starling to both his father and daughter, fearing they wouldn’t hold him up as somebody worthy of being a hero, as Drake himself thought. Especially to his father, who practically grew up raising his son to  _ be _ Darkwing Duck. 

 

After the explosion, both he and Launchpad tried to rationalize Jim’s actions, saying that perhaps he was just deeply troubled after all those years since the show got cancelled, that he probably didn’t  _ mean _ to snap. There were certainly moments where he did think maybe Negaduck could be Jim Starling---the two looked alike, acted alike, they even sounded alike, come to think of it. Drake felt stupid that he’d never fully made the connection or ran an investigation to look deeper into the fact beforehand.

 

He’d denied the fact that Negaduck could be Jim, it appeared, and that eventually blew up in his face.

 

“There was an explosion,” Drake confessed, “But Jim didn’t die. Apparently not.”

 

“How?”

 

“Negaduck appeared only a few days after the explosion, and targeted me specifically. It couldn’t be a coincidence. I was dumb to not think of it before.”

 

“Did the explosion somehow...rewire his brain?” Drake Sr. raised an eyebrow.

 

“Yes, sort of. He should have died, but didn’t. Or maybe the real Jim Starling did die and there’s only Negaduck now.”

 

“I...I understand. It’ll take some time for me to process it, but I understand you,” Drake Sr. put a hand on his son’s.

 

Launchpad cleared his throat, breaking up the moment between father and son as they looked up at him. 

 

“Everything okay there?” Launchpad fidgeted around with his hands.

 

“Yes, why?” Drake Sr. asked.

 

“I just thought maybe you had an argument. I guess not.”

 

Drake shook his head, “No, we were just discussing. About...yeah.”

 

“Oh,” Launchpad grimaced, “Right.”

 

Silence followed, the room’s atmosphere stagnating with unspoken questions and answers. It stayed silent until Launchpad piped up again, “Do you think it’d be better if we just...stop talking about this Negaduck stuff? It’s hard to talk about and nobody’s happy. I guess we should focus on just Darkwing?”

 

“I agree,” Drake Sr. smiled, and turned to his son, “Darkwing Duck is what’s important here. Never mind what Negaduck is doing now. He’s not the Jim Starling you grew up with.”

 

Drake found that comment hard to accept; there was no denying that the two were one and the same, and Negaduck had made sure he would never forget this, by carving a star into his beak. However, if it was best for everybody’s mental health involved, he would have to roll along with it. He just had to focus on being Darkwing Duck on his own, and potentially separating Jim from all of this.

 

A part of him felt that maybe Jim Starling could come back. It was naive of him, yes, but he didn’t want all the good memories and love of Darkwing Duck as a whole to get soiled because of one actor.

 

“I...I’ll just rest, for a little bit,” Drake said, “I need it.”

 

Drake Sr. nodded, letting his son climb into bed and pull up the blanket over himself.

  
  


Gosalyn heard everything.

 

She had gotten the answer she’d been looking for so desperately, and now wasn’t sure if she  _ wanted _ to know the truth after all. On one hand, it explained the break-in very well, giving insight into Negaduck’s motivations. On the other, she  _ had _ dreaded the fact that Jim Starling could be Negaduck. 

 

Knowing how Negaduck had just tortured her father like that, leaving him so traumatized, however, made her feel sick to her stomach. She’d known he was evil, but now knowing that he was possibly Jim Starling, changed things for her. Her stomach continued to churn as she felt all these conflicted emotions mixing in.

 

Moving away from the doorway, she looked towards the elevator down to the hospital lobby and devised a plan to get out into the city and find Negaduck again, this time preferably equipped with some sort of weapon. It was moments like this that made her wish she could be the alter-ego she designed for herself---Quiverwing Quack.

 

But who said she could only  _ wish _ ?

 

Gosalyn bolted straight towards the elevator, her hopes of heading down and confronting Negaduck dashed as a pair of legs stood in front of her. She looked up to see Drake Sr’s disappointed face gaze at her.

 

_ Oh, goody. _

 

“Gosalyn,” Drake Sr. tapped his foot, “Where do you think you’re going?”

 

“Bathroom.”

 

The older duck chuckled, “No, don’t be silly. I know you were going to go back out there, Drakey told me about your escapades. Besides, the bathroom’s in the opposite direction.”

 

Gosalyn rolled her eyes, dragging along the floor as Drake Sr. pulled her back into the room. She could see that her father was now asleep, and Drake Sr. took her to a corner where they wouldn’t bother his nap.

 

“I just had a talk with my son, I can handle a talk with my granddaughter,” He sighed as he sat on the stool, “Why do you keep running off? Be honest with me.”

 

Gosalyn kept her mouth shut, avoiding eye contact with the older duck.

 

“Is it because of Negaduck?”

 

She cringed, still not saying anything.

 

“I suspected as such. Why else did you find Drakey in trouble?” Drake Sr. paused, mulling over what he said, “Huh. On one hand, you shouldn’t have gone out in the middle of the night like that, but on the other...if you  _ didn’t _ , then Drakey could have...”

 

Gosalyn’s eyes widened, she hadn’t thought of it that way. After all, she just wanted to see what both Darkwing and Negaduck could be up to---she could have never predicted that something horrible was to happen to her father. 

 

“It still put me through a lot of stress, however. I’m old, Gosalyn, I can’t be around for you and Drakey forever.”

 

“You fought back,” Gosalyn drawled out.

 

Drake Sr. blinked, “Ah, huh?”

 

“You fought Negaduck. Yeah, I helped, but still. You did  _ that _ .”

 

“What does this have to do with...Oh,” Drake Sr’s eyebrows furrowed, “I guess I...just did what any father would?”

 

Gosalyn’s eyes gleamed, looking over her adoptive grandfather with newfound curiosity. She was still trying to warm up to him, but considering the fact he’d shown the dedication to get up and save his son  _ just like that _ , and that he’d tried to comfort her, she felt a faint sense of respect for him budding up. However, she still wasn’t entirely comfortable with calling him her grandpa. Nobody could ever replace Grandpa Waddlemeyer.

 

She was about to say more when Launchpad interrupted, briefly interjecting, “Sorry!”

 

Drake woke up, looking around blearily before setting his eyes on the source of the voice. Rubbing at his tired eyes, he murmured something and sat up in bed, “Yeah, LP?”

 

“Has anybody checked on our house since we left?”

 


	15. Mr. Self Destruct

As Launchpad mentioned, the Mallard residence had been untouched for several days. The family’s exit had been impromptu, but they had still locked the door. The neighbors next door called, but received no answers from the other end, worried about the fate of both the home and its inhabitants. 

 

The house stood, sitting idly by the surrounding darkness of the suburbs. Dust gathered around the driveway, leaves and debris being swept up by the wind. All was quiet.

 

Negaduck stood in the middle of the street, staring ahead at the house. A car swerved around him and honked furiously, but he did not react, his eyes fixed on the house’s front door. He took a step forward.

 

And another step.

 

Another.

 

“Can’t you go faster?” Basil grumbled, his voice ringing from the depths of Negaduck’s mind.

 

Either Negaduck was hallucinating, or Basil had actually infected his mind somehow. He’d been in there for days, telling his son what to do and reacting violently if disobeyed.

 

 Negaduck remembered that night in the sewers, Basil had disappeared and he was acting more strangely than usual, not knowing what was to come later. As much as he hated the fact, he couldn’t prevent Basil from taking over however he pleased.

 

The lawn had grown considerably in the short timespan, weeds gently swaying in the breeze. The doorknob rattled as Negaduck turned, he let out a  _ hmph _ and pulled out a bobby pin he’d taken from the streets, pushing it into the keyhole and twisting it around until the door unlocked. Inside the house. It smelled of dust, dry and left to linger for days.

 

 Closing the door behind him, he flicked the lights on and browsed the living room, which was rather neatly set up despite the dust it collected.

 

“See, Jim, you don’t have to do things the violent route,” Basil piped up, “Here, let me take the reins.”

 

Negaduck walked over to the side desk, looking over the photographs, the frames since replaced and the photos cleaned up. 

 

These, he remembered, were the photographs of Drake and his father. Now that Basil was here, he too could gaze at these photos, and Negaduck sensed that he felt disgusted as well.

 

“What a good son,” Basil commented, “Too good, unfortunately.”

 

Negaduck took one photograph and threw it against the wall, the glass in the frame shattering. Letting out a deep breath, he threw another, and more, until all of them had been sufficiently broken and crumpled down on the adjacent floor. He raised an eyebrow, looking over the desk itself, and lifted it. 

 

Using what little strength he had, he managed to throw it against the TV, smashing the screen in, and panted as he watched the electrical wire spark from inside the television’s mangled remains.

 

“You know what? I liked that. Felt...cathartic,” Basil murmured, “I’m starting to understand you now.”

Negaduck tore his eyes away from the smashed-in TV and headed upstairs, his steps slow and heavy as he ascended the staircase, unblinking and seemingly on autopilot.

 

 Remembering which door belonged to Drake’s room, he turned the knob and opened it up to reveal the room full of Darkwing Duck memorabilia. It seemed that after the family had bothered to clean everything up, Drake put all the merchandise in their respective places. It made Negaduck gag.

 

He proceeded to walk up to the walls and tear down each poster one by one, pulling apart the tape and pins stuck to the wall and tearing the poster into little pieces. Next, he swept all the little figurines off the drawer, including the lamp which he slammed onto the drawer and watched the lightbulb’s glass shatter all over the desk. Inside the drawers, among the clothing, were more Darkwing Duck merchandise, mostly comics.

 

 Negaduck pulled out all the clothes, tossing them aside as they were strewn around the room. He grabbed a comic and tore off the pages, his beak crinkling up as he saw Darkwing’s smug face on the cover. 

 

Scooping up more of the comics plus some figurines into his arms, he walked to the bathroom and dumped everything into the toilet, flushing it afterwards and watching the toilet whir and sputter with water as it struggled to swallow the trashed merchandise. 

 

He walked back out, pausing as he stepped on something hard and heard a squeak from underneath, looking down to see a Darkwing Duck squeaky toy squashed underneath his foot. The toy elicited another squeak when he picked it up, gazing at it briefly and then hurtling it against the window.

 

The glass did not break. Negaduck walked to the window, briefly gazing at a reflection---not his own, but Basil’s---and punched through the glass, shattering the entire frame.

 

 The glass dug into his fist, leaving lacerations all around, and as he opened his fist, it throbbed tremendously, aching with newfound pain. It bled, dripping down outside the window and on the floor as he pulled his hand back in, examining the cuts carefully. Then, he wiped off the blood on the adjacent walls, watching the purple wallpaper go red. 

 

Basil sneered, “What is it with you and blood?”

 

“You’re the one doing this,” Negaduck retorted.

 

“Hmph.”

 

Negaduck returned downstairs, his bloody hand on the railing as he descended. He headed towards the kitchen and flicked the light on, idly browsing around the many features of this room. 

 

The knives were neatly placed in their drawer, glistening under the artificial light. Picking up one steak knife, Negaduck looked again, in his reflection. 

 

No, not his face. 

 

He saw Basil, or a sliver of his face at least, though the knife’s reflective surface.

 

Placing his good hand on the countertop, he brought the knife down on his hand---and missed. He took a deep breath and tried again, still missing each time. With each miss, he could tell Basil was growing frustrated, scraping the knife against the countertop and struggling to stab at his hand. Growling, he tossed the knife aside, ignoring his throbbing, lacerated hand and looked to the refrigerator. The drawing plastered on the door, he recognized that drawing.

 

He recognized how the little girl had drawn herself like a superhero, with Darkwing and his sidekick in-between, all three of them smiling happily. He scowled, raised a hand, and tugged at the paper to tear it off the door.

 

He wouldn’t budge.

 

 Static encroached Negaduck’s brain as he stared at the drawing of the little girl, his hand shaking as it held on to the tape, refusing to pry it off. Basil yelled at him, shouted curses and commanded him to tear off the paper, to destroy it, get rid of it, anything. 

 

Negaduck did not obey. Instead, he let go of the tape, his eyes still fixed on the drawing, vision tunneling until the only thing in focus was the girl.

 

Suddenly stumbling backwards, Negaduck hit his head on the counter top, groaning and shaking his head as he tried to stand back up.

 

 Basil continued to scream.

 

He reached up the counter for support, only to slip back down after gripping the knife he’d tossed aside, afterwards curling himself up in a fetal position as the knife flew from his grasp and fell, scraping just the cloth over his back.

 

His breathing growing heavier, Negaduck shakily stood back up again, watching his hands tremble, then turning his neck to look at the drawing. He couldn’t tear that drawing off, and he had no idea why.

 

Attempting to walk over to the fridge again, he felt a sharp twist of pain as his body slammed on the floor again, this time right on the knife, dangerously close to his neck. It had penetrated his collarbone, having gone under the turtleneck somehow. Blood dripped down his torso and onto the floor, but Negaduck simply got back up, taking a deep breath and looking out the window.

 

He saw it again, Basil, in his reflection. Giving him a poisonous glare, one of hatred and disappointment. He could hear the growling and cursing from within his mind. Unable to face the reflection anymore, he smashed the window pane, glass flying in all directions and cutting into his skin. A piece of glass hit his eye and he shrieked, clambering for support before his back collided with the floor yet again. 

 

It was time, Negaduck decided, to fight back. Grunting, he heaved himself up and took the knife, taking a deep breath and slammed the tip right into his good hand, screaming.

 

“What are you doing?!” Basil shouted, “You know what happens when you disobey me!”

 

Negaduck threw the fridge’s door open, scouring for any bottles of alcohol but was distraught when there were none to be found. Was Drake really this much of a lightweight?

 

Sucking in his breath, he turned his head towards the sink, getting up and staring down at the disposal. His head continued to feel like static, as if his brain was being prodded with many, many tiny needles simultaneously. His left eyelid twitched rapidly, vision growing spotty and blurred, images distorting and twisting, colors flickering in and out.

 

There was a smell. Not cigarettes. It smelled like flowers. 

 

His breath slowing, Negaduck looked up at the ceiling, slack-jawed, as he could hear a different voice, his mother’s. Calling his name. 

 

Jim. Jim. Jimmy.

 

She had her arms reaching out for him, offering a warm embrace. As much as he wanted to accept the embrace, his body felt as if it were made of concrete and refused to do so..

 

Eyes rolling back inside his head, Negaduck let out a strained whimper and collapsed, blacking out.


	16. Fly Me To The Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Launchpad finally gets his own chapter.

 The hospital room fell into silence after Launchpad asked about the fate of the family’s house. Drake Sr. looked at him, then Gosalyn and finally to his son before speaking up,

“You’re right, you--thank you for mentioning that. I should go check on it.”

 

“I want to go, too,” Gosalyn piped up, “I want to give Negaduck a piece of my mind!”

 

Drake stood up shakily from the bed, “I---I don’t know, you saw what---”

 

“I could do it,” Launchpad interjected.

 

“What?”

 

“I mean, I think you should take care of yourself, DW! And your dad and Gosalyn should stay, too. I can handle this. I think?”

 

Drake Sr. knitted his eyebrows, thinking of what other options were available. Obviously Drake himself had no chance of going, he was still far too weak and the trauma from having to face Negaduck again would be devastating to him. Gosalyn had been through enough trouble and escapades already, so she was completely out from the start and that was not even getting into how young she was. Drake Sr. himself  _ could _ come, but...his foot. He still needed to recuperate from his own injury. That left Launchpad.

 

“Time for me to take the limelight or something for once, huh? Been kinda in the back for a while,” Launchpad chuckled sheepishly.

 

“I suppose you could,” Drake Sr. dug around in his pockets, “But, since it’s dangerous to just go alone without anything to defend yourself with, take this,” He took out a can of pepper spray and handed it to Launchpad, “Don’t ask where I got it from.”

 

“Thank you---”

 

“Oh, right, my keys too,” Drake Sr. went through his pockets again and handed his car keys over, “You’ll need to borrow my car, obviously.”

 

“Thank you! Uh,” standing up, Launchpad took a deep breath and looked over at the family one more time, trying to formulate something to say.

 

“I, uh, if anything goes wrong, ever, I would like my ashes scattered in the sky!” 

 

No response. Launchpad muttered, trying to come up with a better response.

 

“I love you guys, even DW’s dad who I’ve only known for a few days.”

 

“Launchpad, it’s not a suicide mission,” Drake said, “You easily outweigh Negaduck by what, a hundred pounds?”

 

“But what if he has a chainsaw?”

 

“You said you would go. So, go!” Drake Sr. affirmed, “You have pepper spray!”

 

Launchpad gulped and nodded, making his way out of the door. He just had to check all his belongings first:

 

Pepper spray? Check.

 

Drake Sr.’s keys? Check.

 

Phone? Check. Still on 70% battery.

 

What else...lucky hat? Check.

 

Everything seemed to be in order, then. Smiling, he ambled off to the elevator, making his way down into the lobby, exiting through the automatic doors and finally to the parked car, pressing the ‘unlock’ button on the key and hopping inside the car.

 

He hadn’t noticed it before, but he felt awfully cramped in there. 

 

Bracing himself for the inevitable encounter with Negaduck, Launchpad turned on the radio, hoping to get pumped up and ready to take him on. He’d briefly forgotten that he was actually _ borrowing _ the car and that it was not his own, therefore accidentally swerving around a truck and nearly crashing into the curb.

 

Drake Sr. didn’t seem like the sort to freak out over a little dent, though. It’d be fine.

 

As he pulled up into the driveway, he noticed that the lights inside the house were on---that was not a good sign. Re-checking to make sure he had everything in order, he stepped out of the car and looked at the house, walking closer towards the windows. He peered through one window, gasping when he saw how  _ trashed _ the living room was; it was in even worse shape than the first time Negaduck had broken in---the TV was completely destroyed.

 

The front door wasn’t locked, Launchpad easily turned the knob and inched the door open, looking out for any sign of Negaduck. When all was quiet, he pulled out the pepper spray can from under his hat and pointed it in front of him, taking small steps forward.

 

“Uh, if you’re there, Negaduck...” 

 

He whispered, browsing around the ruined living room area, stepping over the glass that had shattered onto the carpeting. If Negaduck had destroyed the room  _ this _ much, he dreaded to imagine what he’d done upstairs, to the bathroom, or even the kitchen.

 

 For a place that Negaduck had managed to turn upside-down  _ again _ , it was very quiet. So quiet, that the only noises were coming from Launchpad, whose heavy footsteps  _ whapped _ against the floor each time. The air was oddly still, too, with hints of---was that cigarette smoke? He’d smelled that ever since he went down into the sewers, the presence of cigarette smoke around Negaduck. Maybe he was thinking too deeply into that---it didn’t seem out of character for somebody like Negaduck to be a smoker.

 

Or Jim. Right. He still couldn’t believe that. He believed Drake, of course, but it was a little too hard for him to accept that idea. It would have made his “do it for Jim” comment he’d said to Drake over a year ago bitterly ironic. 

 

“Come on, you, uh, something something alliteration,” Launchpad squinted, “Man, how does DW do it?”

 

He debated looking upstairs, but the thought of seeing Drake’s room potentially trashed to pieces with his hard-earned Darkwing Duck merchandise destroyed put him off wanting to go, so he headed towards the place where the cigarette smell was strongest---the kitchen.

 

At first, Launchpad closed his eyes and stuck out the pepper spray as far in front of him as he could, bracing for any impact that would be to come---but there was none. No chainsaws, no yelling, nothing but complete silence. He snapped his eyes open and looked around the kitchen, seeing how much of a mess it was, with the shattered window and utensils moved out of their normal places. He stepped forward, and tripped. Clambering up from the floor quickly, he spun around to see what he had fallen over.

  
  


He could recognize that shade of yellow anywhere. Evidently he had failed to look down while checking out the kitchen and nearly missed Negaduck. Stifling a yelp, Launchpad stood up against the fridge and aimed his pepper spray at Negaduck, his hands shaking.

 

The yellow-clad duck did not stir. He did not even make a single sound when Launchpad had tripped over him. Puzzled, Launchpad cautiously crouched down next to Negaduck, still aiming with the pepper spray, and reached over for his shoulder, gritting his teeth when he saw blood seeping through the cloth.

 

 Looking back at the shattered window, and seeing a bloody knife on the floor nearby, he wondered if it’d been a  _ double _ break-in this time, as if somebody had gotten in to fight Negaduck specifically.

 

Launchpad put two fingers to Negaduck’s neck and checked for a pulse to confirm that, yes, indeed he was alive and potentially hazardous if awoken.

 

 However, the amount of blood he saw made him reconsider if Negaduck would be in any shape to fight. If anything, he looked quite a lot like when the family had found Darkwing in a similar position. 

 

Taking a deep breath, Launchpad heaved up Negaduck, carrying him in his arms, noticing how  _ light _ he felt especially when compared to how he’d carried Drake before. Drake had always been small but he had a considerable amount of muscle thanks to a strict diet and exercise regimen, Negaduck, on the other hand, weighed nearly nothing. Launchpad wondered how he was in any shape to fight, then.

 

. Headed for the living room, he set the unconscious duck onto the couch and sat near him, going for his pepper spray if Negaduck were ever to wake up.

 

Then, he remembered what Drake said about Jim. He’d tried to forget that. But now there was no better time to find out if Drake had been telling the truth after all. Even if it meant potential bruises and bites once Negaduck awoke, he had to find out.

 

With slow and deliberate movements---a first for Launchpad---he took off Negaduck’s hat, setting it down on the floor beside him.

 

 Deep breath. 

 

He had to figure out how to get the mask off next.

He didn’t want to try and untie it in fear of waking up Negaduck, instead pinching the sides of the black mask. Launchpad wiggled it upwards, moving it up from the head until it came off.

 

Once the mask slipped off from the head completely, Launchpad could finally see what Drake had been talking about. He doubted it at first, the unmasked Negaduck looked far too unkempt and peaked from the Jim he’d remembered. He didn’t remember Jim Starling having such sunken eyes or even yellower feathers than usual, but he could still  _ tell _ it was him.

 

At any other time, Launchpad could have fainted, and he  _ almost _ felt like fainting, but not this time. He almost wished Jim Starling had actually been dead all along and that this wasn’t him, but it was. He could recognize that face anywhere.

 

Launchpad sat there, stunned for a moment and unable to say anything, until Negaduck---Jim suddenly let out a sharp wheeze, causing Launchpad to nearly stumble backwards into the broken TV, aiming his pepper spray once again. Jim exhaled deeply and groaned, trying to lift himself up from the couch. 

 

Launchpad could hear him muttering something, but wasn’t sure what he was saying. He saw how Jim balled his hands up into fists and his face contorted into fury, eyes flickering rapidly back and forth. 

 

It seemed to Launchpad that Jim wasn’t doing well at all. He wondered what over a year of being Negaduck did to his well being. Despite the fact that Negaduck caused so much chaos in the city and tortured Drake like  _ that _ , Launchpad couldn’t help but feel pity for him, or rather, for Jim.

 

Jim seemed to come to his senses and caught wind of Launchpad, his eyes going wide and glaring at him.

 

“You---!” 

Jim doubled over in pain before he could speak further, clutching his chest. Launchpad could see his bloody, scarred hand and winced, wondering just what in the world had happened to him. 

 

Recognizing that Jim was in no state to pose a considerable threat to somebody twice his size now, Launchpad came over near him and tried to lay him back on the couch. Jim just hissed at him, using his other hand to grab at Launchpad’s neck and scratch at it like some pitiful cat.

 

“Jim, Jim, it’s okay,” he took the hand from his neck and placed it back on Jim’s chest, “You’ll be okay.”

 

“Di--die.”

 

“What?”

 

“Die,” Jim repeated, “Fall in a hole.”

 

“It’s me, Launchpad.”

 

Jim gawked at him, unblinking for several seconds with his eyes seemingly bugging out of his head. He touched around his face and head, scrambling around to look for his discarded mask and hat. Launchpad watched as he stumbled around the room, disoriented and angry.

 

“Where’s my mask?! My hat!”

 

“Uh,” Launchpad pointed to the clothing on the floor next to him, “Right here, Jim.”

 

“Stop...calling me Jim!” 

 

He grabbed a shard of glass and aimed it threateningly at Launchpad, who in retaliation held out his pepper spray can. Jim’s face dissolved into confusion as he stared at the spray can, his eyes distant and wide.

 

 He didn’t look scary, Launchpad thought, he didn’t look or act like the psychopath he’d expected from Negaduck, or even his idol, Jim Starling. Maybe he didn’t even need pepper spray at all, there was clearly nothing this duck in front of him could do but wave around a shard of glass in his face. 

 

However...he  _ knew _ what both Jim and Negaduck were capable of doing, and what they did. The fear and hurt he saw in Drake’s face whenever Negaduck was brought up after the torture was evidence enough. His greatest worry right now was if Drake could ever hope to be Darkwing Duck after time and time again that Jim had betrayed him to his core.

 

Launchpad’s brief moment of silence was interrupted as he felt a sharp jab in his shoulder, looking over to see the shard of glass Jim had been brandishing pierced in, blood already seeping out. Jim’s face was twisted into hatred, his eyes blazing with white-hot fire as he yanked out the glass shard and brought it down to Launchpad's face.

 

Launchpad dodged, grabbing his pepper spray can and dispersing the contents directly into Jim’s face. The other duck immediately recoiled, rolling to the ground and grabbing at his face while hissing in pain. Launchpad held his breath and stared at Jim as he let out a pained growl and slammed his head against the floor, his legs kicking out from him. Seeing a diversion now that Jim was vulnerable, Launchpad heaved him up again and placed him back into the couch, enduring his screams of agony.

 

 Launchpad had only  _ heard _ of pepper spray, he’d never actually thought he’d have to use it before. He looked at the can and searched for instructions, trying to see if he’d used too much, wiggling it around to see if the contents were still there---yes---and then looked back at Jim, who had started coughing violently.

 

He was absolutely going to ask Drake Sr. where he got that can of pepper spray from.

 

Growing frantic, Launchpad thought of what could possibly remedy the pain. He had only defended himself, but didn’t expect to make Jim  _ this _ much hurt.  

 

Pepper equals spicy. He remembered a time Gosalyn had slipped a hot pepper into Drake’s salad, and Drake had downed an entire carton of milk to get the heat out. Milk equals cure.

Pepper plus milk equals no more pain. Lightbulb switching on in his head, Launchpad rushed to the kitchen, got a carton of milk from the fridge, and headed back into the living room, opening the contents.

 

Jim’s breaths came in strained wheezes and he was trying to claw his eyes out. Launchpad shoved the milk down Jim’s throat, making the other duck sputter and hack. As Launchpad stepped back and apologized, Jim bolted straight up and retched, vomiting up the milky bile onto the couch, and passed out.

 

That...didn’t work. Or maybe it did. Jim wasn’t in distress or yelling anymore.

 

Launchpad decided that he’d never use pepper spray ever again.

 

He just knew he had to take Jim to the hospital too, maybe request that he be as far away from Drake as possible. Walking back to where Jim had passed out on the couch, Launchpad was careful in avoiding the vomit and unbuttoned Jim’s oversized yellow coat, leaving only the turtleneck---oh, the turtleneck was  _ also _ stained with blood. He thought maybe if he could take off the turtleneck, leaving the undershirt, but he saw none, shrugged and heaved Jim up. 

 

Launchpad went out the front door, unlocked the car and placed Jim in the passenger seat, putting the seatbelt on. Before he started the ignition, he took one look at Jim and whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

 


	17. Illusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well crap im slowly becoming disinterested which is not a good thing, ill just dump the entire rest of the story here lmao, maybe interest will come back when ducktales returns...

Jim woke up with a yelp, bolting up straight with his entire body trembling and overcome with sweat. He had a nightmare about his father again. His left eye stung with blistering pain, reaching a hand over to touch the eyepatch that had been placed over it. 

 

For a moment, he contemplated tearing off the eyepatch and digging his fingers into his eyeball to rip it out and get rid of the pain. Trying to get his mind off the injured eye, he searched around the unfamiliar surroundings, finding himself in a bed, with a blanket and pillow to boot.

 

He discovered that one hand was completely bandaged, and the other had a needle running into the wrist, taped over with a tube reaching all the way up to a bag overhead. Jim sighed deeply as he finally realized where he was, at the very least he couldn’t sense Basil anywhere; there was no cigarette smell to be found.

 

Feeling how dry his throat was, Jim reached over for a glass of water that a nurse had placed on the nearby counter while he had been asleep, gulping it down in one go. He placed the glass back on the counter and rested his head against the pillow, staring up at the ceiling.

  
  


In a room several stories down, Drake was asleep and had perhaps the first pleasant sleep in these couple of days. Drake Sr. was napping on an adjacent chair with Gosalyn resting her head on his lap. Sleep, however, would be interrupted as Launchpad nearly knocked down the door, prompting everybody to wake up and face the bulky duck drenched in sweat and wide-eyed.

 

“Jim is---He’s---you won’t believe it!” Launchpad blabbered.

 

Drake Sr. got up from the chair to calm him down, asking him to slow down and tell them everything.

 

“I found Jim. He’s in the hospital right now. I brought him here! I think it was the pepper spray.”

 

Drake gasped, his eyes darting around the room and gripping his blanket, “Which room is he in? Where?” 

 

“Room 91,” Launchpad walked over and sat on Drake’s bed, “It’s way upstairs and he has a team of nurses watching him. He won’t go anywhere.”

 

“What is his condition?” Drake Sr. asked.

 

“Pretty terrible. I’m not sure how he’s still kicking! I hope he gets better, through,” Launchpad took out the spray can, “Oh, and I won’t be needing this anymore. Thank you.”

 

Gosalyn hopped off the chair and took the spray can out from Launchpad’s hand, “Keen gear! You used this to knock him out?”

 

“I, well,” Launchpad rubbed the back of his neck, “Yeah. Also, wow, haven’t heard you say that in a while.”

 

Drake Sr. chuckled, taking the spray can from Gosalyn, “It’s not a toy, Gos. They use this kind of stuff in the military.”

 

“You were in the military?!”

 

“No, I just have a few friends from there.”

 

Gosalyn briefly frowned, her face soon switching to eagerness as she asked Launchpad, “Can I go see Jim?”

 

“Maybe when he’s feeling better?” Launchpad shrugged.

  
“No, I’d rather you not,” Drake said, “You know what he did. I’m still uncomfortable about you getting near him at all. I love you too much.”

 

“Too much, yeah,” Gosalyn turned away, sitting back on the chair, “Way too much.”

 

Drake Sr. cleared his throat, “How is the house, Launchpad?”

 

“Trashed! I called the neighbors through, don’t worry. They offered to fix it up.”

 

Drake Sr. yawned, “How about we get some well-needed sleep? Goodness knows we all need it, especially you, Launchpad.”

 

Launchpad nodded, returning the yawn. Drake Sr. closed the door and shut off the light, heading back to his sleeping spot.

 

Drake stayed awake.

 

Jim hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep, either, instead continuing to stare at the ceiling. The pain in his left eye had not been alleviated and he’d been periodically prodding at the eye patch, itching around the area. Even his “good” eye stung terribly, sometimes leaking tears and pus.

 

Waiting for sleep to arrive, h           e figured he might count the tiny little dots on the ceiling tiles, or envisiona pleasant drive along the beach, anything relaxing to lull him into some sort of sleep, no matter how brief.

 

Sleep did not come.

 

“Jim!”

 

Jim’s eye nearly popped out of its socket, pupil dilating. He bolted up and looked all around his surroundings, but nothing was to be seen aside from the shadows of beeping, softly glowing medical apparatuses. The IV bag above did not stir. Sighing, he laid his head back on the pillow.

 

“Jim!”

 

Heaving himself back up and gripping the sides of his head in pain, Jim gritted his teeth. Who was talking to him? Was it Basil again? Jim thought he’d finally gotten rid of him. 

 

 Turning over to his stomach, he stuffed his face into the pillow and forced himself to sleep. 

 

Water appeared to slowly trickle down from the ceiling, droplets landing upon the bed in slight drips, being absorbed by the bed sheet. Jim didn’t notice it at first, but when he inched slightly more to the right, he thought he felt wetness from both on the bed sheet and his feathers.

 

 Eye popping back open, he turned his head to look at the ceiling again, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. His eye fluttered back shut and he took a deep breath, finally drifting off to sleep.

 

Sleep interrupted yet again, he could hear the door creak open. There were no footsteps or any other indicator that anybody had opened the door, but there it was, wide open.

 

Grunting, he heaved himself up from the bed and planted his feet down--- _ splash _ .

 

Jim let out a slight yelp, retreating his foot back from the water. It went up to his knees, just barely touching his oversized gown, still and clear in the dark room. Looking up at the ceiling, he could see no visible leak or break on there that would indicate this much water having spilled to the ground.

 

Taking one step forward, he chattered his teeth as both of his legs reached into the icy water, trying to find out where it had all come from. The door was still open, reaching out into the corridor and serving as a tantalizing reminder to escape from the building. The water began to stir, creating small waves which gradually grew stronger until the entire room seemed to be rumbling, waves congregating together to create a massive whirlpool in the center of the room. Jim stared, slack jawed as the whirlpool transformed into a shape that he recognized  _ all _ too well.

 

“No,” Jim’s whiskers drooped, his blood chilling.

 

The Liquidator sent a wave of water rushing towards Jim, sending him scrambling backwards and coughing, trying to get up with the support of the IV stand.

 

Jim looked back to see Liquidator inching towards him with every wave of water that followed, and without thinking, he took the IV stand and aimed it at the water-dog, trembling. The Liquidator loomed over, and Jim found this cue to charge through the water-dog’s body, only to find himself hurtling towards the door instead.

  
An opportunity to escape. 

 

But, instead Jim stumbled and fell half-way through the door, feeling himself being pulled back as a tight grip went around his legs. As he tried to scramble back towards the hallway, he looked behind him to find Bushroot, with his leafy arm grabbing onto his legs. Kicking his legs and attempting to wriggle away from Bushroot’s grasp, Jim freed himself and stumbled off into the hallway, dragging the IV stand along.

 

Jim squinted as bright lights shone from elsewhere. Trying to see ahead in the hallway, he heard electricity sparking from the distance, backing up as Megavolt came into view. The rat snapped his fingers to generate balls of electricity that he shot at Jim, who got knocked further down the hallway. Jim got back up and saw Bushroot blocking the opposite direction using massive trees, looked behind at Megavolt advancing towards him, and darted back into the room only to find himself surrounded by plush toys, their beady eyes glistening.

 

Puzzled, Jim pushed away some of the toys and heard a playful giggle, looking up to see Quackerjack, with his toothy grin and banana doll. 

 

“What’s wrong, Dorkwing?” The jester asked, pushing the doll closer towards Jim, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

 

The Fearsome Four surrounded him on all sides, looming over him with crazed grins and determination to fight as Jim cuddled his IV stand, shouting at them to get away. Looking down at his hand, he remembered the IV needle and came up with an idea, no matter how stupid he’d think it was afterwards. Taking a deep breath, he shut his eyes as he pulled the needle out, removing the tape and feathers along with it, and immediately ran into the hallway once again.

  
  


No longer sensing the Fearsome Four, Jim came to a stop in the middle of the hallway, breathing heavily and gazing at his now bleeding wrist. He let out a deep sigh and collapsed to the ground, still panting.

 

“Mr. Starling?!”

 

Jim had no energy left to turn and see who called his name, only listening to the frantic footsteps and felt a hand on his back. A nurse knelt beside him, her face twisted with worry.

 

“Ke---” Jim coughed, “Keep rolling.”


	18. Like A Tattoo

It was after lunch in the cafeteria that Launchpad decided he should visit Jim to check on his condition since that night. Gosalyn begged to go, but was denied by Drake Sr. on grounds of it being too dangerous, and that Launchpad was strong enough to take down Jim if he ever dared to attack.

 

“Whatever happened to ‘let’s get dangerous’?” Gosalyn pouted.

 

Drake Sr let out a hearty chuckle, “That’s just for show, and that’s for somebody who  _ knows _ what to do.” He winked at Drake.

 

“I’ll tell you everything he said, Gosalyn!” Launchpad smiled, rubbing Gosalyn’s hair.

 

Drake himself didn’t say much, choosing to stay out of any conversation regarding Jim or Negaduck and focusing on finishing his meal instead. Launchpad understood why he still felt uncomfortable, considering what Negaduck had done to him nearly a week ago.

 

The cafeteria, Launchpad thought, had some amazing food. He’d just ate an entire New Stork steak and had a slice of cheesecake for dessert, yet was still hungry for more. He’d have to go for seconds later, though, he’d been worrying about Jim’s condition all night. 

 

After taking the elevator and reaching room 91, Launchpad knocked and waited for a response. Putting his ear to the door, he could hear something muffled, chattering, and footsteps. The door swung open, nearly knocking him over and revealing a nurse who gasped when she saw him.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir! I didn’t mean to---”

“It’s okay, this happens all the time!” Launchpad grinned, getting up. “I’m here to see Jim Starling.”

 

“He just got lunch, but he’s available to talk. It’s visiting hours after all.” The nurse wiped off her hands, making her leave. “Enjoy your visit, sir.”

 

Launchpad pushed the door further open, peeking into the room. 

“Hey, Jim, how’s lunch---”

 

In a clean bed, hands bandaged, one wrist hooked to an IV tubing, and wearing a bib, laid Jim Starling. He had a tray of porridge, jello, and water on his lap.

 

“Oh!” Launchpad exclaimed, taking a seat next to him. “What do you have here?”

 

“I told her I wanted blueberry jello,” Jim grumbled, prodding at his meal, “or anything else, but no, ‘your digestive system is too sensitive,’ she said, ‘you can’t eat too much or you’ll get very sick,’ she said!”

 

“... Right! I, uh, I wanted to say I’m so sorry I pepper sprayed your face and then dumped milk all over you.”

 

Jim paused. “What?”

 

“You…don’t remember?”

 

“The only thing I remember is waking up in this hell-hole. I barely know where I’ve been ...Huh. You didn’t even faint this time.”

 

“Oh, believe me, I almost did, it’s just, ah...” Launchpad looked over at Jim, trying to take in everything about the older duck’s condition.

 

Last night had gone by so quickly that Launchpad never got the chance to truly see how Jim appeared physically. What he’d remembered of Negaduck was simply a menacing, dangerous force of evil. Launchpad hadn’t really paid attention to anything else about how he looked. Thinking back to that night, he almost didn’t recognize Jim, considering how much he’d changed after the accident.

 

The bandages on Jim’s hands were the first thing Launchpad noticed, but it wasn’t the only injury that was healing, because he could also see sutures across his chest, bandaging around his head and most striking of all, a white patch covering his left eye. His right eye didn’t look too good either, red and squinting, but that was to say nothing of how deeply sunken-in it was, with the surrounding area being a sickly shade of dark purple with noticeable bags underneath.

  
  


He got why Jim could only have jello and oatmeal for lunch, but it didn’t  _ seem  _ like enough to… fill him up at all. Jim already felt  _ too _ light when Launchpad had carried him, and he could see why now---the older duck had lost a great deal of weight. All the marks of the in-shape actor he knew were completely gone, leaving him emaciated and frail. 

 

He could still tell it was Jim, though, his voice and that perpetual glower he had on his face were the same as before. Launchpad wanted to know everything about him, what happened to him, and how he even survived in the first place.

 

“How are you feeling?” Launchpad finally asked after a long pause.

 

Jim rolled his eyes. “How do you think? Just peachy. Never felt healthier.”

 

“Uh, right… Wait, should I call you Jim or Negaduck?”

  
“Who do you think you’re looking at? Am I trying to get at you with a chainsaw?”

 

“Nope.”

 

Jim laughed humorlessly.

 “I sure wish I had one right now,” he muttered, certain that his sarcasm was lost on Launchpad.

 

Launchpad turned his focus to the untouched meal, frowning. He wasn’t sure what else to say to Jim. His idol was right there--Negaduck was in the room, but he’d tortured Drake badly enough to traumatize him, so why did Launchpad bother visiting the psychopath at all?

 

Maybe, he started to realize, maybe his heart was too big after all.

 

“What are you gawking at?” Jim prodded at his jello some more. “Is there something else you want to say to your biggest idol, huh?”

 

“I’m just worried about you.” 

 

Jim let out a deep sigh, still looking down at his jello and oatmeal combination. His movements struck Launchpad as odd, as if his body was having a hard time catching up to his brain. Launchpad also noticed how the effort of doing such a minor task like picking up the spoon made him tremble violently.

 

“Yeah, as if any sensible person in this world would care about a trainwreck like me.”

 

Hearing Jim’s dejected voice, Launchpad’s chest tightened. He didn’t sound  _ anything _ like the person he used to faint over. When he tried to place a hand on Jim’s own, the older duck retracted it, narrowing his eye at Launchpad.

 

“It’s alright. I won’t hurt you!” Launchpad reassured.

 

“I’ll admit, I’m surprised you’re still looking out for me,” Jim said.

 

“Well, it’s just what I do. Look out for others. I know you did bad things, but I can still see the old Jim inside of you, somehow.”

 

Even Jim’s blinks were sluggish, causing Launchpad to wonder how much sedatives and painkillers had been pumped into his body---certainly more than what Drake got.

 

 Jim let go of the spoon and started itching at his eyepatch, groaning.

 

“Does that hurt?” Launchpad asked.

 

“Gee, what do you---” Jim exhaled, “Yes, it does.”

 

“Maybe,” Launchpad reached his hand over Jim’s and tried to pry it away from the patch, “Maybe you shouldn’t be itching it, that could make it worse.”

 

“Why do you want to be so nice to me? I get you still think I’m the  _ old _ me, but why?”

 

Launchpad recoiled from Jim’s words, unable to find anything to say.  _ Why _ was he nice? Why not? It was in his nature to be kind, that’s all. Jim narrowed his eye again.

 

“Are you trying to get something from me? If you wanted an autograph, you could have just asked.” Jim pushed the lunch tray out from him and removed his bib. “You don’t have a pen and paper, do you?”

 

Launchpad shook his head.

 

“You saw what I did to your buddy, didn’t you?”

 

“But that was Negaduck. Not you.”

 

Jim deadpanned, staring at Launchpad for a good minute as the other looked back, puzzled. Then, he scoffed, “Sure, whatever.”

 

“You haven’t finished your lunch,” Launchpad pointed out, “that’s a waste of good oatmeal!”

  
“I have no appetite.” Jim rubbed his shoulder. “But they’re forcing me to eat, or else they’ll have to use a feeding tube or something.”

 

Launchpad frowned, “I’m sorry. Well, see, I have to get back; I can’t just be here forever.”

 

Jim looked down, silent.

 

“Uh… get well soon, Jim.”

 

Launchpad stood up, looked back at Jim one more time, and started to the door, about to depart when he heard Jim’s voice again.

 

“Wait.”

 

Launchpad paused and turned around to face Jim. “What is it?”

 

“Could you stay with me for a little bit?”

 

“O-Of course.”

 

For once, Jim smiled. He still looked incredibly fatigued and sad, but he did manage to smile when Launchpad returned to his side. The grin disappeared once Jim started to shiver, and he began to hug himself, rubbing his arms.

 

“What’s wrong?” Launchpad went back to his seat.

 

“Don’t you feel cold, too?”

 

“Huh, no,” Launchpad looked up, “Must be the air conditioning.”

 

“It’s not. I asked the nurse,” Jim’s eye widened, “And I felt it outside of this room, too.”

 

“Well, if you want, I can give you my jacket.”

 

“That won’t work. The cold never goes away. It’s not because I'm not eating either!”

 

Launchpad raised an eyebrow, and deduced that it must only be Jim’s nerves acting up. He was about to place a hand on his shoulder when Jim recoiled back.

 

“No.”

 

Jim eyed Launchpad, looking him up and down and still trembling considerably. To Launchpad, he appeared so vulnerable, like he needed a hug at that very moment.

 

“Why not?”

 

Jim gritted his teeth and shook his head, his voice growing tense, “Never mind! Where’s Basil? Do you see him?”

 

_ Now _ Launchpad was confused, “Eh, who?”

 

“Basil,” Jim repeated.

 

Both fell silent. The room echoed with soft beeping coming from medical devices, many of which surrounded Jim. His eyes darted back and forth and he pushed himself against the pillow, seemingly shrinking into the bed, continuing to shiver.

 

The air was calm, and Launchpad still could not detect a change in the temperature.

 

“I don’t know anybody named Basil,” he spoke at last.

 

“Basil Starling,” Jim shrank even further into the bed, looking less like the former egotistical actor he used to be and more like a scared child, wide eye full of fear.

 

“Hmm,” Launchpad put a hand to his chin, “Nope, doesn’t ring a bell. A relative?”

 

The moment the word  _ relative _ had been uttered, Jim shuddered, pulling the blanket up towards himself and muttering. His beak wrinkled up as he tried to say something, but nothing came, as if he couldn’t bring himself to answer Launchpad’s question.

 

“I’m sorry, do you want me to leave now?”

 

Jim took a deep breath, placing a hand to his stomach. Launchpad could hear it grumbling.

 

 “One more thing.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Where’s the cafeteria?”

 

“First floor, close to the lobby, just adjacent from the patient rooms.”

 

“Thanks,” Jim smiled once again.

 

“No problem, Jim,” Launchpad waved from the doorway, “Please get well soon.”

  
  


Once he reached the elevator, Launchpad sighed deeply, thinking over his experience with Jim. He’d looked  _ terrible _ , like he was barely alive, and his behavior was…odd, to say the least. It would be a lot to talk about to Drake and the others, so much was going on in his mind that he couldn’t figure out what to say  _ first _ .

 

He went down to the first floor and walked to Drake’s room, number 19. Hesitant, his hand hovered over the doorknob for a few seconds before he pushed it open, clearing his throat. The inhabitants of the room all turned to look at him, with Drake Sr. welcoming him back first.

 

“How was it?”

 

“Did he try to kill you?!” Gosalyn jumped up and down; Drake placed his hands on her shoulders to relax her.

 

“No, Gosalyn,” Launchpad shook his head, “I think he was too tired to try. But the thing is...”

 

“What is it?” Drake asked.

 

“I’m worried about him.”


	19. Going Mobile

Night time. 

 

Jim already began to regret leaving his lunch unfinished, for his stomach was roaring with hunger. A feeding tube  _ almost _ seemed like a good idea this time, but he hated the thought of having anything stuffed down his throat or inserted into his abdomen.

 

Sitting up, he looked at the clock on the wall at the north side of the room. It read 8:25 PM---so, it wasn’t even late, there was still time for him to head down to the cafeteria. Tossing his blanket aside, he pushed himself up and off the bed to the floor, holding on to the IV stand and detaching it from the bed. He didn’t need a nurse’s help, he could get there by himself, he thought.

 

He hadn’t noticed it before when he had a nightmare about the Fearsome Four, but he felt so  _ heavy _ , his legs were like putty, trembling as they tried to support his weight, his feathers made of lead. Nonetheless, he trudged onwards towards the door, using his IV stand as support. As he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, his mind flashed back to that first time he’d broken into the Mallards’ home.

 

Specifically, he remembered the little girl who’d bothered to wake up, go downstairs, and discover Negaduck in the living room. He had a chainsaw back then,  _ why _ didn’t he just use it to slice her into ribbons? That would have ended the fight before it even started.

 

After he browsed around the hallway for any sign of the hospital staff, Jim took a deep breath and continued down the hall towards the elevators. As he pressed the button to go downwards, he remembered a different scene. Meeting that little girl again, in the alley. He’d learned her name was Gosalyn, took her down into the sewers for whatever reason, and later released her. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t just kill her there, either.

 

Reaching the first floor, his stomach screamed at him to get any kind of food inside his body. One hand on his abdomen and the other gripping the IV pole, Jim looked up at a clock near the lobby. It read 8:30. Turning his head towards the door to the patient rooms, he sighed and trudged on, going through the automatic doors.

 

The cafeteria, he had to find the cafeteria. 

 

He could see it at the end of the hallway, the corridor stretching out so far it seemed to take an eternity to reach the end. As he walked, there was another brief memory, this time of his fight with Darkwing Duck. That’s when he noticed the bandage around his leg. He’d entirely forgotten he’d even gotten shot in there, considering the many events that occurred afterwards.

 

When he finally arrived at the cafeteria, his entire body dragged him down, aching with every breath. He mentally cursed himself for becoming so weak, assuming it was all Basil’s doing. Pushing the door open, Jim alerted the lone food server at the cafeteria’s bar, who went to washing her hands and preparing herself to greet him.

 

“Hello, sir. How may I help you?”

 

Jim sighed deeply as he took a seat, “I need to...eat something.”

 

“We don’t have a lot left, but here’s the menu,” the server said with a smile, sliding over the menu to Jim and filling up a glass of water.

 

Jim scoured through the menu, looking through whatever late-dinner options were available. Ultimately, nothing seemed palatable enough for him at the moment, not even the New Stork steak. He wasn’t even sure if his stomach could handle it. Taking a sip of water, Jim handed the menu back to the server.

 

“Find anything you like?”

 

“No.” Jim shook his head, “Maybe...Do you have ice cream?”

 

The server raised an eyebrow and opened her beak to ask something, but thought better of it and instead said, “Yes, we have some options available. I can get the menu for you.”

 

She took out another menu and handed it over to him. The ice cream menu had a large selection of flavors, including some that he’d never heard of before. He took a minute to think about what he really wanted, and afterwards looked up at the server and said, “Pistachio.”

 

“One scoop or two?”

 

“One.”

 

The server nodded, “Coming up.”

 

While the server went to fetch the ice cream, Jim’s mind went back to the past once again. This time, it was much, much further into the past, coming from a time when he was still young and idealistic and---

 

“Here, one scoop of pistachio ice cream for you.”

 

Jim looked at his ice cream, and up at the server, giving her a tired smile, “Thanks.”

 

“You’re welcome. What is your name, may I ask?”

 

Jim took a spoonful of his ice cream and swallowed it, “Jim Starling. Ring a bell?”

 

“No, I suppose not.” the server furrowed her brows, “But now it does, yes. You can call me Daisy.”

 

“Daisy.” Jim repeated, “Lovely name. Like the flower.”

 

“Why, thank you.” Daisy refilled his glass of water, “Was there any reason you couldn’t call a nurse to bring over food?”

 

Jim thought back to Launchpad. How he had even bothered to come and visit Jim, and be so  _ kind _ to him when nobody else seemed to care, he’d actually almost enjoyed the conversation they’d had before paranoia took over.

 

“I-I, uh, wanted somebody to--to talk with.”

 

“Oh,” Daisy watched as Jim took another spoonful of pistachio ice cream, “Don’t we all have to, sometimes?”

 

Jim blinked slowly, nodding once. He pushed away the ice cream bowl, certain his stomach had been satiated for now. Daisy took the bowl, placing it in the sink and cleaning it out.

 

He cleared his throat, “Ah, Daisy?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Can you, uh, keep a secret?”

 

Daisy looked around her, despite the cafeteria being mostly empty, and whispered, “To my grave.”

 

Jim opened his beak, struggling to come up with anything to say, anything to get a hint of recognition from her. Surely she watched Darkwing Duck? No, she didn’t even recognize the Jim Starling name.

 

How was he going to proceed?

 

_ I’m Darkwing Duck. _

 

_ I’m the terror that flaps in the night. _

 

_ I ran away from the studio after finding my true call- _

 

No, that wouldn’t do it

 

_ I’m Negaduck. _

 

_ I’m Darkwing Duck’s worst nightmare. _

 

He couldn’t say what he wanted to. He didn’t think Daisy would understand. Instead of saying anything else, he shook his head and sighed, “Never mind.”

 

Daisy put the bowl in the dishwasher and smiled at him softly, “That’s okay. Not all secrets need to be revealed.”

 

Jim yawned and itched at his eyepatch, “I...I should go back to my room...Thank you.”

 

“You’re very welcome, Mr. Starling.” Daisy said. She noticed the great difficulty Jim was having in trying to support himself with the IV pole, walking out of the bar and towards him.

 

“No, It’s okay. I can...take myself back.” Jim sighed, “I got here...by myself too.”

 

Daisy blinked, and nodded, “Oh, okay. Please be safe.”

 

Jim smiled at her one last time before heading out the door, looking into the hallway again. He walked on, hoping that the scoop of ice cream had given him just enough energy to get back to his room without being noticed. 

 

Shivering, he gripped the collar of his gown, wishing he’d taken a blanket with him. 

 

His stomach no longer growled, but still felt painfully empty as he placed his hand on it, trying to ease an ache. The pain in his abdomen intensified and his breathing hitched, all before his legs finally gave out and he collapsed to the floor, heaving. Trying to push himself back off the ground, he looked up to see two large, webbed feet within his line of vision. 

 

Lifting his head up  to see who it was in front of him, Jim met his eyes with Basil, who took out a cigarette and blew smoke into his son’s face, sporting a malicious smile.

 

Jim let out a heavy sigh and fainted.

  
  


Gosalyn woke up to find herself still in Drake’s hospital room. It had been like this for about a week, maybe more. At first, the hospital gave her all sorts of feelings such as nervousness and curiosity, but after spending so long in it now, and not even as a patient, she got bored. Drake himself seemed to be recovering so well that he might as well as be discharged in a day or two. Gosalyn also thought about  _ why _ they didn’t just go home in the first place; it was as if whoever was up in the heavens was playing a prank on them, or just so lazy that they hadn’t decided to just put them in. 

 

Or perhaps they forgot.

 

She yawned, lifting herself off from the chair and quietly opening the door, going out in the hall towards the bathroom. Once she went a few steps forward in the hallway, however, she tripped.

Turning to her side to see what it was she tripped over, she discovered a patient lying prone on the floor, limbs sprawled out. With much curiosity, she leapt back up and circled around the passed-out figure, crouching down as she saw his face.

 

He was not familiar, but otherwise did bear a passing resemblance to Drake. Kneeling down, she poked at his eyepatch, trying to rouse him awake, but he did not stir. He still had a pulse, albeit a slow one, which indicated that he was still alive. Instead of further prodding him to awaken, she retreated back to the room.

 

“Guys,” she reached up to turn on the lights, “Somebody’s passed out in the hallway.”

 

 Drake Sr. got up first, yawning as he stood up from the chair, asking, “Who is it? Haven’t you called a nurse?”

 

“There wasn’t anybody else out there!”

 

Drake Sr. gently motioned Gosalyn aside and looked out the door, seeing what she’d been talking about; a patient having collapsed on the floor in the middle of the hallway. Clicking his tongue, he went back inside the room and shook Launchpad’s shoulder, waking him up.

 

“Guh-huh?”

 

“Shh, Drakey still needs his rest,” he shushed, “There’s somebody outside who needs help.”

 

Launchpad nodded slowly, nearly stumbling over as he tried to get up from his chair. Gosalyn suppressed a laugh as he looked around his surroundings, dazed and barely aware of where he was. Drake Sr. headed out the door again and walked over to the patient, checking his vitals.

 

“He’s still unconscious, slow pulse rate, Launchpad, will you---”

 

“Jim!”

 

Launchpad’s expression went from groggy confusion to shock as he suddenly ran over to the patient, kneeling down and lifting him up in his arms. Drake Sr. watched as Launchpad bit his bottom beak trying not to cry, placing a hand over the larger duck’s shoulder. He gave Launchpad a reassuring smile and stood up, examining the patient’s IV bag.

 

“This is Jim?” 

 

“Yes,” Launchpad wiped away a tear, “It’s him, I told you, I was worried.”

 

Drake Sr. put a hand to his chin, and turned to Launchpad, “Stay with him. I’m going to get help.”

 

Gosalyn kneeled down with Launchpad, browsing over Jim’s unconscious body and looking up at Launchpad, with his creased eyebrows and deep frown.

 

“He’s not Negaduck,” Launchpad’s voice quivered, “He can’t be.”

 

“But you saw him,” Gosalyn said.

 

Launchpad closed his eyes and sighed, pulling Jim closer towards his chest.

  
  


Drake Sr. entered the lobby through the hallway, looking for any sign of a nurse or other staff member at the reception desk, but only found empty spaces where a nurse would have been sitting at the desk. He wondered how late it was now and shouldn’t there have been a nurse here. It was as if the fates had orchestrated the perfect prank; any other time the hospital staff would have to be here, and at the moment they were needed the most, they disappeared.

 

Hearing a door open, he turned his head towards the cafeteria, where a woman had just stepped out and was locking the doors. 

 

“Excuse me,” He called out, running towards her, “Excuse me, madame!”

 

The woman turned to Drake Sr.’s voice. Even after running such a short distance, he was already panting.

 

“I’m sorry, madame, there’s...there’s a patient in the hallway. He’s unconscious.”

 

The woman’s eyes widened, as if she understood who exactly he was talking about. Telling him to lead the way, she followed as they went into the hallway, stopping right at where Launchpad and Gosalyn were. The nurse recognized Jim and checked his vitals, sighing in relief as she knew he was still alive.

 

“He told me his name was Jim Starling,” The woman looked up, “He came over to the cafeteria to eat. Ordered pistachio ice cream.”

 

“Is he allergic to nuts?” Drake Sr. asked.

 

“Well, no, I’m certain he wouldn’t have picked that flavor in the first place if he was allergic. He’s still alive, though, maybe his stomach simply couldn’t handle it...”

 

“He did say he was only allowed oatmeal and Jello,” Launchpad commented.

 

“Risk-taker, is he?” The nurse clicked her tongue, “Let’s take him back to his room, he doesn’t appear to be in obvious distress, just passed out.” 

 

“Are you sure he’ll be okay?” Launchpad asked.

 

“I’m sure. I might be a server in a cafeteria, but I have a medical license just like everybody else who works here, too.”

 

The nurse heaved Jim up, carrying him in her arms, and motioned over to Drake Sr. to hold on to the IV stand. 

 

“Which room?”

“91,” Launchpad piped up.

 

“Thank you. We’ll be back.”

 

Launchpad waved goodbye to the duo as they made their way to the elevator, and looked back towards Drake’s room.

 

“Should I tell him?” He asked.

 

Gosalyn shrugged, “Sure.”

 

Launchpad nodded, getting up from the floor and heading back towards Drake’s room. He had quite a lot of things on his mind, all of them some variation of how Jim had just happened to collapse in the hallway right in front of this room. Drake was still in his bed, staring at the ceiling, with his hands over his stomach.

 

“Drake?”

 

“It’s Jim, isn’t it?” Drake turned his head, his voice heavy with tiredness.

 

“Uh, yeah. He just...passed out back there.”

 

Launchpad sat at the foot of the bed while Drake sat up, running his finger over the star shaped scar on his beak. It was healing quickly, but its mark would likely be permanent.

 

“I want to see him,” Drake sighed.

 

Launchpad’s eyes grew large in surprise, he looked back and forth around his surroundings and stammered, “Are you sure? I mean, I had no problem meeting him, but I don’t know what he’d think of you!”

 

Drake fixated his eyes onto Launchpad, “it’s been a while. The hospital is ready to discharge me in a few more days. I think I can handle him now. Besides, you said he wasn’t doing too well.”

 

Launchpad wasn’t sure whether to smile at the fact that Drake was recovering this quickly, or frown at the idea that he’d want to talk with Jim anyway. Yes, Jim was  _ not _ doing well physically or mentally, but Launchpad had no way of knowing whether Jim would have the energy to fight back or not. 

 

As much pity as he felt for Jim, he still had to remind himself that he was Negaduck, a very dangerous criminal. He just had to figure out how to get over the denial of knowing this truth first.

 

“There is so much I want to say to him,” Drake continued, “And so many questions I have. I can’t just stay in bed all night wondering about whatever happened to Jim Starling.”

 

Launchpad didn’t know the full story, either. There were also potentially  _ more questions  _ he had about Jim than Drake had. One example would be his strange behavior during the meeting the two briefly had after lunch—-how Jim had grown increasingly afraid and paranoid, eventually asking him if he saw Basil anywhere. Whoever that was.

 

Launchpad has questions, too, but wasn’t sure Drake would be able to handle Jim just yet. And that wasn’t to say anything about what Drake Sr. would think, either. 

 

As if on cue, Drake Sr. came back into the room, the woman now absent—-possibly with Jim. He saw how Launchpad was sitting next to Drake in the bed and sighed. Gosalyn came next, yawning and retreating back to the chair to sleep.

 

“He says he wants to see Jim,” Launchpad said.

 

“Hmm,” Drake Sr. furrowed his thick eyebrows, “I don’t know. On one hand, Drakey‘s an adult and is capable of making his own decisions, but, well...”

 

“Please,” Drake held his father’s hand, “I need to know everything. And I need to know it from  _ him _ . Not from a doctor.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

Drake nodded, “I imagine he can be sedated well enough to not...pose a threat, I think?”

 

Drake Sr. paused for a moment, taking in all the possible ways the meeting between Drake and Jim could go, given that Jim was to be properly sedated and restrained. 

 

After a minute, he nodded, “Okay. I believe you. Stay safe.”

 

“Thank you,” Drake smiled.

 


	20. Just What I Needed

Drake stood at the front door of Room 91, twiddling his thumbs. He let out a deep sigh and prepared himself. He’d told his family he wanted to go alone, that they could head down to the cafeteria and wait until the meeting was over. 

 

Time seemed to stretch to infinite lengths as Drake tapped his foot on the tiled floor, watching and waiting. At last, the door opened and a nurse, with bags under his eyes and worry lines, motioned with her hand for him to come inside. 

 

However, Drake still felt unprepared to face him, or to see the condition he was in. Through the open door, he could see the otherwise-plain looking hospital room, nearly identical in every way to his own, as if it were built in a factory. There was everything a hospital room needed---heart monitor, IV stand, bed, nothing really out of the ordinary.

 

The only reason it felt so alien to Drake was the patient in the bed. Jim wasn’t sleeping, but he hardly responded to his surroundings either, slumped back into the pillow with his breathing slow and heavy.

 

Drake took a seat next to the patient’s bed and took a deep sigh. 

 

He tried to see the patient as Jim Starling, and not the torturer from the sewers who’d been terrorizing citizens for over a year.

 

Jim hardly seemed to register Drake, his eyes glazed-over and fixed onto the ceiling. 

 

“So,” Drake began. He wasn’t even sure where to begin.

 

“Can you see me?” he asked, “Do you see the scar you gave me, right here?”

 

No response.

 

“You were a star. You were, uh. You were my idol. You were everything to me. I had hoped to honor you after your, uh, apparent death. I know, Launchpad told me. I...should have guessed Negaduck would be you, I suppose.”

 

He took a deep breath and continued, “You---or, well, Negaduck---broke into my house, too. I saw you trashed my room. You tried to...I think you were trying to find me there, to...do something to me.”

 

Jim turned his head towards Drake, wearing a haunted expression on his face, with his eyes still vacant yet sorrowful. Drake would never forget that face. 

 

Seeing as Jim made no further response, he continued, “I came to fight you, to get back at you...and. You defeated me, that’s okay, Darkwing Duck loses sometimes. But, uh...you took me into the sewers for some reason and...” Drake trailed off, trying to come to terms with what Negaduck had done to him.

 

He closed his eyes as the memories of his torture came back in torrents, feeling the phantom sensation of a knife being plunged into his shoulder again.

 

“I don’t know if you wanted to kill me or if it was just for...fun,” he sighed, “I have so many questions.”

 

Jim blinked at him, as if giving him a cue to continue.

 

“I think I know why you broke into my house, at least. I know that. I don’t understand the second time, though. First of all, how did you survive that explosion?”

 

“I got lucky.”  

 

Jim’s hoarse voice startled Drake---it didn’t sound like him at all, more like Negaduck if anything, but he  _ knew _ it was coming from Jim’s beak.

 

“The fates decided I wasn’t ready to die yet. They decided I should become Negaduck and get my revenge on you,” Jim wheezed, “Really, I never felt better.”

 

“Did you enjoy being an agent of chaos in this city?”

 

“Grim and gritty, Drakey,” Jim smiled, “Grim and gritty.”

 

Crestfallen, Drake looked down at his feet, not meeting with Jim’s exhausted eyes for once. It would have to take some time to think about what Jim said. 

 

Could he even  _ be _ Darkwing Duck anymore?

 

“Negaduck could do what Jim Starling never could. He could fight back against anything. He could...kill you.”

 

“But you didn’t kill me.”

 

“No. Your family had to come in.”

 

Of course. Drake could have died had Gosalyn and the others never found where Negaduck had been keeping him. He wiped away his tears and sighed.

 

“You’re not Darkwing Duck,” Jim sat up, “You can never be what I created in the first place. You shouldn’t have signed up for auditions.”

 

“The director didn’t contact you.”

 

“I wonder why, huh?”

 

Boorswan was but a faint memory in Drake’s mind, rendered completely irrelevant after the studio incident and the fact that the movie would not be finished after all. It seemed the director would have been forgotten entirely had the meeting not taken place. For a second he wondered where Boorswan was now---probably trying to find another movie to make. Either way, he was no longer important to Drake. Or Jim.

 

What  _ was  _ important now?

 

“Tell me, Jim,” Drake cleared his throat, “Who created  _ you? _ ”

...

 

Jim paused. He’d been groggy from the medication he was under, but now his brain was going haywire, neurons firing in all directions. The room seemed to shift and melt around him, twisting and turning as those words repeated in his mind.

 

_ Who created you? _

 

What a question.

 

Jim blinked, and found that he was no longer in the hospital room, and that neither Drake nor the nurses were present. 

 

He recognized this area; he was in his childhood home.

 

 Cigarette smoke polluted the air. Looking up, he watched the overhanging chandelier sway gently and in tune with his own heartbeat. He could hear the TV in the living room play some movie, an  _ old _ movie. The floorboards creaked underneath as he walked through the hallway, out into the living room, where the smoke intensified and the sound effects from the film grew in volume.

 

“Who created you?” 

 

Drake’s voice rang out again in his ears as he turned towards the living room, seeing a familiar shadow.

 

In a second, Basil stood over him with his cigarette in hand and perpetual disappointment on his face. He looked younger, more full of vigor. Jim couldn’t see his mother anywhere.

 

“What are you doing, Jimmy?”

 

Jim said nothing, staring into his father’s eyes. Looking into those eyes, he felt a cocktail of emotions. Fear. Anger. Resentment.

 

“Jim?”

 

Nothing still.

 

“Jim?!”

 

“You’re dead...” Jim whispered, “You’re dead.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You’re dead. You’re haunting me. You’re making me do this.”

 

Jim felt a pair of hands grasp his shoulders, and he snapped awake to find Drake looking at him with concern.

 

“Jim! Are you okay?”

 

“Never felt better,” Jim’s shoulders relaxed, and he smiled, “Don’t touch me.” 

 

“Sorry,” Drake released his grip, “You were kind of...in a trance.”

 

“I blame the explosion.”

 

Drake’s eyes furrowed, “O-of course. I’m, uh, I’m sorry if my, um, question confused you.”

 

“No, I get it. Who created me...”

 

Basil.

 

“Who...who created me,” Jim repeated, his vision growing blurry.

 

Drake’s face melted, slipping away from his vision until what was left was Basil’s scowling face, the chills and cigarette smoke coming back in full force.

 

“Basil,” he finally choked out, breathing heavily.

 

“Basil? Who is Basil?”

 

Jim could feel Basil’s hands around his neck, choking him, and his vision grew even worse.

 

“Jim?”

 

...

 

Drake watched in horror as Jim heaved, sitting up and trembling in his bed, his eyes fixated on him, frozen in shock. Fear.

 

The heart monitor beeped rapidly as the rate went up, his pulse getting higher, Jim looking like he was being choked by some invisible force. Drake stood up, cursing himself for not knowing what to do, stepping back as a nurse tried to stabilize Jim.

 

He watched as his former idol convulsed in his bed, his head jerking back and his body arching upwards, violently shaking despite the nurse’s attempt to calm him down. She eventually called emergency and ordered Drake to leave.

 

Drake ran out of the room as quickly as he’d been commanded, rushing down to the elevator and practically mashing the button to go down, barely waiting for the elevator to take him slowly down. Speeding off once he reached the first floor, he headed for the cafeteria, found his family, and ran into his father’s arms, shivering.


	21. Aces High

All eyes in the hospital cafeteria went to Drake as he rushed through the large door, practically leaping into his father’s arms and trembling. Those eyes went back down to their meals, except for those belonging to Drake’s family, still fixated on him, wondering and worrying. Drake Sr. stroked the back of his son’s head, whispering reassuring words to him. Drake took a shuddering sigh, melting into his father’s embrace at last.

 

Gosalyn and Launchpad exchanged looks, silently daring each other to ask a question first, eyebrows shifting. After Gosalyn pulled a face that surprised him out of his trance, Launchpad cleared his throat and sat near father and son.

 

“It’s Jim,” Drake Sr. answered even before Launchpad asked anything, “Something happened with him. He didn’t hurt Drakey, through.”

 

It was always going to be about Jim. There was definitely a pattern going on here.

 

Gosalyn butted in, “Did he freak out?”

 

“No time for jokes, Gosalyn,” Drake Sr. said. Gosalyn pouted.

Launchpad looked out the door,  his brows creasing, “I could check on him.”

 

“Are you sure? Why?”

 

“Yeah. I mean...I want to know how he is, too.”

 

“He’s not well,” Drake Sr. sighed, seeing Launchpad already go out the door---he’d eaten his entire meal first, of course.

 

When Launchpad reached the ninth floor, he was greeted by a commotion of nurses around the front of room 91. They spoke of all kinds of technical details using words Launchpad had never heard of before, to such a point the only words he really recognized were “Jim” and “Starling”. He knew it wasn’t going to be good news.

 

“What--what happened?” Launchpad asked, and some of the nurses shut their mouths to glare at him. He apologized briefly, shrugged and repeated his question.

 

“Why do you need to know?” One nurse turned his head.

 

“I’m his friend.”

 

Another nurse nodded, “Your friend experienced a seizure. So far the most severe episode he’s had, but we have him stabilized now. I’m afraid you cannot visit him right now, however.”

 

“How long has he been having seizures?!”

 

“Sir. We’re taking care of him.”

 

Launchpad buried his face in his hands, trying to catch his breath, “I---I’m sorry. It was the pepper spray, wasn’t it?”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Oh, never mind!” Launchpad groaned, “What else do you know? What’s his background? Did you know he’s Negaduck?!”

 

“Sir,” a burly nurse stepped in, “I have to ask you to leave, you cannot interrupt a session between nurse and patient.”

 

Launchpad felt his stomach ignite, a burning sensation that crept up towards his face until tears formed. Why was he this emotional over Jim Starling, of all times now? Oh, of course. Imagine being his biggest fan, then seeing what he’d done, and now he’s having seizures in a hospital bed.

“Can’t I just see him? For a few minutes?”

 

The burly nurse looked over at his smaller coworker, and mumbled, “Well, okay. Five minutes.”

 

“Five minutes,” Launchpad repeated, wiping away a tear.

 

Jim’s hospital room was mostly how he’d remembered it back in his first visit, yet a few things seemed to completely alter the scene. For one, there was a nurse working a medical device printing out long sheets of paper, and Jim himself was unconscious in his bed, several diodes placed around his head and temples.

 

“Is he---um...?”

 

“Measuring brain waves,” said the nurse operating the medical device, “Required in the event of a seizure. It’s happened often.”

 

“I--I have no idea what that means, but I assume it’ll help him,” Launchpad took a seat, looking over Jim.

 

“It will tell us  _ how  _ to help him,” The nurse smiled. She looked as if she knew everything about the situation, as if this was just a daily routine for her and absolutely nothing to worry about. That was her job. It wasn’t Launchpad’s job to smile and figure out how to help Jim. It was just his job to  _ worry _ .

 

He’d seen Jim before in this hospital setting, and seeing him again tore open his already breaking heart. He wished he could  _ finally _ get better and get out of here. Not as Negaduck, through, just Jim Starling.

 

He’d do anything to turn the clock back and prevent such tragedies from happening.

 

Jim stirred, a pale finger lifting up from the bed, his chest heaving with each struggling breath he took. Launchpad reached his hand over, unsure if he was allowed to touch any part of Jim but too afraid to ask the nurse out of embarrassment. When the nurse motioned for him to go ahead, be gentle, he placed a hand to Jim’s chest.

 

Cold. Jim felt cold to the touch, which couldn’t have been a good sign. His sternum could be easily felt through the feathers and cloth. Launchpad tried not to think of touching a corpse, because he  _ knew _ Jim was alive, he could feel the heartbeat---he was just not well at all.

 

“If he gets better,” launchpad looked to the nurse, “Could I take him to the cafeteria?”

 

“Depends on his condition, and what he wishes to do.”

 

“Right.”

 

Launchpad spent the remaining few minutes watching over Jim, listening idly to the beeping machines around him. He’d almost forgotten that his time was up as another nurse came in to remind him to take his leave. Excusing himself, he apologized and went out of the way, looking back at Jim one more time.

 

He had questions he couldn’t ask for whatever reason, and in turn got no answers.

 


	22. Here I Go Again

 

The fact that visiting hours were over by 9 PM did not stop Gosalyn from heading out of the room---much more sneakily than she had attempted before---and reaching the elevator to the 9th floor. 

 

Launchpad hadn’t said anything when he came back from visiting Jim and refused to say more about the visit, which was highly unusual for somebody like him. 

 

Between that and Drake’s horrified comeback to the cafeteria, she could not hold back her curiosity any longer, metaphorical dead cat be damned.

Although she had to hop to turn the knob on room 91, she managed to open the door ajar and peek into the dark room. 

 

Machines beeped softly, their glowing buttons and screens the only other light source aside from the hallway. Jim’s room had so many more machines and junk compared to Drake’s that it seemed like a whole new world. 

 

For a second Gosalyn, wondered if that was a bad thing; Drake was recuperating nicely and hardly needed his IV drip anymore, but here Jim was, hooked up to about every device imaginable.

 

The door was too heavy to hold on for much longer. She slipped inside the room and gently pulled the door to a close, enveloping herself in darkness. 

 

The room was now illuminated only by light emanating from the medical devices. As she walked closer towards Jim’s bed, she saw how the green glow from the heart monitor’s screen gave a further sickly hue to his sallow feathers and pale beak.

 

Jim’s eyes popped open, and Gosalyn stumbled backwards in surprise, crashing into the adjacent counter. 

 

The older duck groaned, scratching at his head and feeling around the diodes placed on top, looking to his right to see where they hooked up to. 

 

Gosalyn watched as he squirmed around in bed, trying to sit up despite his weakened muscles protesting not to move. His motions were shaky, slow as if he were disoriented by everything going on around him. 

 

Even his breaths came in ragged, taking gasps in between whenever he could. She wondered for a second if this  _ really _ was the same duck that had broken into her house and tortured her father.

 

“Ugh,” Jim blinked slowly, “Great, I---” He glanced briefly at Gosalyn, looked back towards the machine, and---almost cartoonishly---whipped his head around to face her again, eyes bulging from his head.

 

“You!” 

 

His eyes seemed to glow at that instant, just like it had many weeks ago when he’d threatened her with the chainsaw. But, that glow was over in a flash, just as quickly as it started, soon replaced by the glazed-over bloodshot look.

 

Gosalyn’s words stuck to her throat like molasses. She gulped, and gave a sheepish grin.

 

“Wha--what are you, uh...?”

 

Gosalyn continued to avoid eye contact with him, struggling to find something to say; how could she not say  _ something _ to him? He’d done so much already, so much wrong...and Gosalyn wanted to know  _ why _ . 

 

“Isn’t it past your bedtime?” Jim wearily sat up, legs dangling off the bed and squinting to get a better look at the little girl, “Shouldn’t you be home?”

 

“I just want to know why you did,” Gosalyn gestured around Jim with her hands swinging wide, “Everything?”

 

“Not this again,” Jim groaned, pushing himself back against the pillow, “You’re  _ way _ too young to be an interviewer, too!”

 

Gosalyn scrunched up her beak, “Tell me more about Jim Starling.”

 

Jim’s eyes widened, and he coughed, “You’re a stubborn one. What is there to know?”

 

“Everything.”

  
  


The door swung open, stopping both Jim and Gosalyn in their tracks as they turned to look at whoever had barged in next. Well, it was less of a dramatic flair as  _ barging _ in and more of awkwardly stumbling through the heavy door and catching his breath. 

 

“Gosalyn!” Drake Sr. exclaimed, marching towards Gosalyn and lifting her off the ground, “What did I tell you about sneaking out?!”

 

“Eh, she can stay,” Jim shrugged, “For all I know, I’m too frail to try and strangle her.”

 

Drake Sr. raised an eyebrow, settling Gosalyn back onto her feet and finding a stool to sit on, “Aren’t you Negaduck?”

 

Jim stared straight ahead, “Yep.”

 

“Do you know how you’ve made my son feel?” Drake Sr. stood up, leaning over Jim.

 

Jim rolled his eyes and scoffed, “Sure. It can’t entirely be my fault, though.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because  _ I _ didn’t do it. Negaduck did.”

 

“But you are Negaduck.”

 

Jim bared his teeth nonchalantly, staring up at the ceiling, “I’m Jim Starling.  _ He’s _ Negaduck. And then he becomes me and I become Negaduck.”

 

“He’s crazy,” Gosalyn whispered. 

 

Drake Sr. patted her shoulder and shook his head, quieting her.

 

“I need to understand what you’re talking about,” Drake Sr. leaned closer, “Who is  _ he _ ? And what is he doing to make you turn into Negaduck?”

  
  


“Don’t you think you’re invading my privacy, grandpa?” 

 

Drake Sr. let out a chuckle, “Grandpa...You hear that, Gosalyn? Grandpa,” He shook his head and continued, “I’m about the same age as you are, Jim. If anything, I should be your brother.”

 

“Why aren’t you?” Jim picked at his IV needle.

 

“That, I can’t answer, but I’m wondering if you can answer my question, who are you  _ really _ talking about?”

 

Jim suddenly bolted upright, groaning in pain as he held on to his head, and looked to Drake Sr, growling, “Why does everybody want to interrogate me? Nobody ever bothered back when...Ugh. Why am I now so interesting all of a sudden? I mean, thank you, but---”

 

“Jim,” Drake Sr. interrupted, “It’ll be okay. If you want, we can just leave.”

 

“No,” Jim muttered, “He’ll come back if you leave. Stay with me,” he lifted himself off the bed and grabbed Drake Sr. by the wrist, his entire frame trembling as he whispered into the other’s ear, “He’ll come back.”

 

Drake Sr. retracted his wrist, looking into Jim’s eyes with concern, “That’s what I want to know---who is  _ he _ ? Why is he coming back?”

 

“His name is Basil,” Jim instinctively shrank back into his bed, “I don’t sense him anymore, but you never know.”

 

Gosalyn and Drake Sr. stared at one another, each trying to formulate a question when they’d built up so many of them already.


	23. Very Good Bad Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *crawls out of sewer* im alive

Gosalyn opened her mouth to speak first, “Who’s Basil?”

When Jim didn’t answer, Drake Sr. did for her instead, “Basil Starling. Old movie director, died just over twenty years ago. Not many young folks know of him nowadays.”

“Knew him personally?” Jim scoffed.

“No, watched a couple of his films when I was in college. If I’m guessing this right, he was your father.”

Jim nearly leapt out of bed, grabbing at Drake Sr’s collar with his eyes wide and maddened, “What did you say?! How did you know?!”, he shrieked.

“Calm down, it’s not a wild guess to make,” Drake Sr. gently took Jim’s hands off his collar, “You do look like him.”

“I do not,” Jim retorted.

“Please, don’t I look like Drakey?”

Jim looked away from Drake Sr., climbing back into bed and fuming, “I’m nothing like Basil!”

Jim’s abrupt reaction to Drake Sr.’s observation had scared Gosalyn into hiding behind her grandfather, but once Jim refused to say how he was like Basil, she stepped out from behind.

“How are you different from your dad, then? What did you do?” she asked, finally seeking the opportunity to learn more about Jim’s life when he’d refused in the past---and neither Drake nor Launchpad had ever bothered to go too deeply into detail about him.

After grumbling for a couple seconds, mixed in with scowling expressions, Jim groaned, “Ah, screw it, what else do I have to lose?”

Gosalyn sat on Drake Sr’s lap, “Tell us.”

“I’m glad I have some fans still willing to stay,” Jim glanced over the two, and continued, “I never cut any of my takes, I did every single episode of Darkwing Duck in one take, I directed and acted everything out. I was and still am very proud of it! But do you know why I chose this method of directing?”

Gosalyn shook her head.

“Because,” Jim continued, “Basil would do the opposite. That bastard, he would cut every time something went wrong, each and every time. How many takes happened? Over 400. I had to endure all of that, all of his bashing and complaints that I fell the wrong way or that my acting wasn’t ‘genuine’ enough,” he pinched the bridge of his nose and grumbled, “He’d punish me every time. Imagine being punished over 400 times.”

“I’d heard about how strict he was, but never...knew the reality,” Drake Sr. whispered, gritting his teeth.

“Right? It wasn’t just at the studio either, but let’s not get into that kind of detail. The point is that I wanted to be so unlike him that I strived to do the exact opposite of whatever he did, and whatever he told me!”

Jim balled his shaking hands into fists, taking deep breaths, “I didn’t think he’d come back to haunt me.”

“Sure it wasn’t in your head?” Drake Sr. rubbed his chin, “I don’t really believe in ghosts.”

“You didn’t smell the...smoke, did you?”

“I...did. I assumed that was from you.”

Jim’s shoulders lowered as he came to the realization that perhaps there was never a ghostly cigarette smell, but rather he had been taking them and didn’t notice, “Oh. That doesn’t...No.”

“Jim, you don’t just look like him,” Drake Sr. lowered his voice, “I think you’re acting like him, too.”

The instant Drake Sr. finished his sentence, Jim leapt out of bed again and tried to tackle Drake Sr. down as much as his weak body could, while Gosalyn ran out of the room and screamed for a nurse.

“I’ll never be Basil! I’m Negaduck!”

“I’m sorry!”

Drake Sr. pushed Jim over to his side and stood up, grabbing his stool and holding it in front of himself as Jim descended upon him yet again. A palpable sense of dread filled the room as the two faced off; the atmosphere had shifted from uncertain feelings of oncoming danger to full blown crisis mode. The aforementioned crisis only stopped when Gosalyn rushed in with a nurse, both running in to see Jim foaming at the mouth as he tried to attack Drake Sr.

Instantly, the nurse had Jim in a tight hold with his arms going under the patient’s armpits and flexing, while Gosalyn tended to her grandfather. The nurse carried Jim back into his bed and upped the sedative dosage as Drake Sr. and Gosalyn watched on, ice running down their spines while they listened to Jim’s growls turn into wheezes.

“You aren’t supposed to be here,” The nurse examined Jim’s IV bag, “He’s extremely volatile.”

Gosalyn was about to say something, but Drake Sr. interrupted, “We’re very sorry. I think it’s time we should head down back to Drakey, yes?”

“I assume you’re not hurt,” The nurse examined Drake Sr.’s hands quickly, “You should get some rest. I’m sorry about his behavior.”

“It’s not a problem. I don’t blame him.”

The nurse nodded, walking out of the room, with Drake Sr. and Gosalyn following along. Once the nurse was out of sight, Drake Sr. pulled Gosalyn gently to a corner and kneeled down to her eye level.

“What...were you thinking?”

As calm as he seemed, Gosalyn could sense the disappointment and even anger in his eyes, but she dared not to look away.

“He can be very dangerous, Gosalyn. Honestly, you’ve got spirit, but I don’t understand you sometimes.”

“He was fine before you brought up his dad,” Gosalyn crossed her arms, pouting.

“I...” Drake Sr. sighed, “Let’s just do what the nurse said and head back downstairs. We don’t need to talk about this anymore. Just don’t do it again, okay?”

Gosalyn nodded.

“For real. Don’t do it. Promise?”

Drake Sr. held out a pinky finger, which Gosalyn took with her own pinky and replied, “I promise.”

“Thank you. Imagine what could have happened if I didn’t intervene.”

Gosalyn didn’t need to imagine. She felt she could have taken Jim on by herself, after all she was much smaller and quicker than him, and he was in a weakened state at this point. Instead of considering the thought of what Jim could have done, she smiled at Drake Sr., took his hand, and bolted down the hallway into the elevator. She’d finally got some information out of Jim, and that satiated her curiosity enough.

The answers she had been looking for weren’t the only good news Gosalyn received, for once she and her grandfather went back to the 9th floor, they were greeted by Launchpad and Drake standing just outside of the room. Drake was out of his gown and no longer attached to an IV drip, and Launchpad smiled broadly as he carried a bag over his shoulder.

“Where were you?” Drake asked, taking in his father’s slightly disheveled appearance, “We were waiting to tell you, I’m free to go!”

“You--oh! Why was I not informed?”

“You were somewhere else...wait, where were you?”

Drake Sr. and Gosalyn exchanged awkward glances, before Gosalyn admitted, “We were seeing Jim.”

“Are you okay?” Drake’s eyes widened.

“Of course I am, you should be wondering if Jim is okay, if anything!”

Drake wrapped his arms around his father to hug him tightly, his grip much stronger than it had been a few days prior.

As Drake Sr. looked at his face, he could see that the scar on his beak was fading. Despite his son’s now-stable condition, Drake Sr. still worried that the mental scars wouldn’t heal as quickly.

“Oh, right,” Drake came to a realization, “You’re right...What about Jim?”

“Let’s not worry about that now. We gotta go home first,” Drake Sr. patted his son’s back, “I’m sure the doctors have it under control.”

 


	24. Same Man I Was Before

Despite the good news of the discharge, Drake could not sleep. Launchpad was snoring soundly beside him, but it was not the snoring that bothered Drake so much as it were the thoughts that plagued his mind. Arms crossed behind his head, staring up at the ceiling, Drake reeled himself back to when he talked to Jim, and the latter had an episode that caused Drake to escape the room, afraid. 

 

Drake Sr. and Gosalyn had gone to check on Jim too. Drake Sr. explained everything that happened in their meeting, eliciting concerned responses from Drake and Launchpad, but they too understood that Jim was likely suffering. Iit wasn’t entirely his fault he was this way.

 

“Launchpad?” Drake turned over to Launchpad’s side, gently prodding his meaty shoulder, “LP?”

 

“Hmmmyeah?”

 

“I can’t sleep,” Drake sighed.

 

Although still groggy from being roused awake, Launchpad sat up and turned on the light, “Is it about Jim? You’re not alone there.”

 

“Well, good, I guess?”, Drake rubbed his eyes, “I just have these thoughts about what happened to him. I don’t...I don’t understand,” he looked down at his hands, and turned back to Launchpad, mulling over all he wanted to say about Jim, “Could we talk downstairs?”

 

Launchpad nodded, getting off the bed and grabbing his robe. Drake followed, although his movements were decidedly slower and reluctant, fiddling over his robe and nearly touching the scar on his beak out of habit. Shaking off any negative thoughts, Drake headed down the stairs, with Launchpad behind.

 

“That’s where I found him,” Launchpad pointed to the floor as they arrived at the kitchen, “Passed out, looking pretty bad.”

 

Drake looked to where Launchpad gestured; the entire kitchen had been cleaned up, everything back to its pristine order as if Negaduck had never been there, and this included the floor tiles that sparkled under the artificial light. He could imagine it, through, the scene with all the utensils thrown around, perhaps there was blood as well---he wouldn’t have been surprised.

The vivid mental image of Negaduck--or Jim--collapsed on the floor and likely bleeding, made him shudder.

 

“All I really knew from my own visit was something was wrong in his brain,” Launchpad sighed, “I just hope he gets better.”

 

“But what if he doesn’t?” Drake kneeled, touching the floor tiles, “He was already too far gone when...” he swallowed down the incoming bile in his throat, unable to bear his painful memories, “he tortured me.”

 

“That wasn’t Jim, that was Negaduck.”

 

Drake took a shuddering breath and stood back up, going over to the sink and seeing his own reflection in the metal, “Haven’t you forgotten?”

 

Launchpad bit his tongue and fumbled over what else he was going to say before a switch went off his brain and he realized, “Oh, right.”

 

Drake rubbed at his eyes, trying to hold back the tears that dared to spill down his cheeks, “I failed him, Launchpad.”

 

“What?”

 

“I failed my hero.”

“What do you mean, you  _ failed _ him?” Launchpad placed a hand to Drake’s shoulder.

 

“I’m the reason he...went crazy. I’m the reason Negaduck even exists at all. Maybe if I never auditioned to be Darkwing Duck in the first place, then  _ this _ ,” he pointed at his beak, “wouldn’t even be here!”

 

Launchpad stammered, “I don’t understand, you, uh, you were doing great when you got discharged...”

 

“Holding it in,” Drake shut his eyes, “I was just holding in the negativity. I’ve never stopped having nightmares.”

 

Drake was sobbing now, tears falling over into the kitchen sink. Launchpad felt his heart twinge with hurt, and reached in to hug his partner. He understood what Drake felt, because he too felt the same things about Jim. Perhaps, he thought, it affected Drake so much more severely because he’d been building his entire identity up on Darkwing Duck. At the end of it, Launchpad just hoped he wasn’t losing faith. Not in being Darkwing Duck and certainly not in Jim Starling.

 

Others would call him naive, sure, but Launchpad still believed Jim had a chance.

 

Footsteps descended down the stairs, and Launchpad looked up to see Drake Sr. in a borrowed robe and reading glasses. The older duck saw his son’s crying and instantly went to comfort him, thanking Launchpad for being there when he could.

 

“What’s wrong, Drakey?”

 

Drake pulled away from Launchpad’s hug for a moment, crestfallen, “I’ve just been thinking about Jim.”

 

Drake Sr. sighed deeply, remembering the scuffle he’d gotten into with Jim, when he was just trying to understand him better. He took his son’s hands and rubbed them, giving a reassuring smile.

 

“The hospital is trying everything they can. I know what Jim is like, now. I know what Negaduck is like, but...” Drake Sr. trailed off, seeing the anguished look in his son’s eyes. He couldn’t risk making things worse if he kept mentioning Jim or Negaduck. 

 

“What if I can never be Darkwing Duck again?” Drake choked back sobs.

 

Drake Sr.’s breath paused for a moment, “Oh, Drakey,” he gently pulled his son into a hug, stroking the back of his head, “You were always Darkwing Duck.”

  
  


Jim could not sleep, either. Launchpad had just told him briefly before leaving, that Drake was ‘all better’ now and could go home. The oversized duck had the audacity to call it good news, as well. As far as Jim knew, he would continue wasting away in this hospital while Basil plagued his dreams and waking moments. At this moment, he squinted up at the ceiling with his one good eye, idly listening to the beeping of the heart monitor which he’d grown accustomed to. The diodes placed onto his head were gone, machine as well, but his head itched.

 

Basil wasn’t around now, having slunk back into the deepest crevices of Jim’s mind to slumber. This gave him an opportunity to think for himself for once, a great wave of relief rushed over as he realized he could do something at last without Basil interfering. But likely not for long.

 

Sitting up from the bed, Jim looked up to see his IV bag hanging overhead, and sighed. His body felt immeasurably heavy, the sedatives not yet worn off, but nonetheless he stood up from his bed and held on to the IV for support. Detaching himself of the other devices for now, he pushed open the room’s door and headed towards the adjacent bathroom.

 

Flicking the light switch open, Jim rinsed his face with cold water and looked at himself in the mirror. He was no pretty sight, a far cry from the actor he used to be. Strangely enough, he wasn’t disturbed by his own appearance, placing a finger over the bandage covering one eye, tracing around his dark circles, and then down over his beak.

 

Sighing, his mind went back to the entire family of ducks that had kept invading his privacy ever since he’d broke into their house for the first time. Coming to a realization, he thought about how, despite every horrible thing he’d done, none of the family members truly resented him, not even Drake Mallard. Was he really just Jim Starling to them, after all, and not just Negaduck?

 

He’d likely regret thinking such, but for a moment he believed he had a chance. He could get away from Negaduck, from Basil...But how?

 

And would he even  _ want _ to? The thrill of causing terror as Negaduck had been pure bliss for him for some time, but ever since Basil dared to intervene and the Mallard family made him briefly reconsider his position, it no longer felt the same for him to continue being ‘grim and gritty’.

 

Eye widening as a new idea formed in his scrambled mind, Jim stared into the mirror for an uncomfortably long period of time before he took his IV stand and trudged back towards his room. There was a wheelchair in the far left corner of the room, used when Jim would go for his checkups or head down to the cafeteria if he was too weak or doped up on sedatives to walk. He could use that wheelchair, and the IV stand to support him as well. As long as Basil remained dormant, Jim had a pretty good chance of heading downstairs and out into the lobby, where he would---what? What was he going to do? Meet the Mallards?

 

In a wheelchair? Maybe he’d eventually run if he found the energy to do so. He contemplated looking out the balcony to see if there was any way to descend 9 feet below safely before deciding that it would be suicidal to do so. Going down the elevator was the only other option remaining. 

 

Wheelchair it is, then, but how quickly could it get him to the bottom?  

 

The lights were still on, even this late at night, this meant doctors and nurses were still working throughout the night. Even if he couldn’t fully convince a nurse to help him all the way to the Mallard’s home, there still had to be some other means of communication. Looking back to the doorway, he thought up a plan.

“Sir,” Jim walked up to the nearest nurse, IV stand at his side, “I need something.”

 

The nurse spun around to face Jim, adjusting his glasses as he did, “Out this late? Your IV doesn’t need replacing.”

 

“The cafeteria. Take me there,” Jim suddenly became aware of the gnawing sensation in his stomach, “Please.”

 

“You’ve never said please,” the nurse noted, looking Jim up and down, “And this late?”

 

“I’m not lying,” Jim placed a hand on his ravenous stomach. Any other time and he would have tried to knock some sense into the nurse or indimitate him, but he was much too weak for it now.

 

“Of course I’ll take you, just taking precautions,” The nurse led Jim to his wheelchair, and Jim shot him a glance, wondering what he meant by  _ precautions _ .

 

“I heard you have quite a reputation here, already,” whispered the nurse as he wheeled Jim to the elevator, “But regardless of the scary things I hear about you, It’s my duty to help. We’ve dealt with criminals.”

 

“I’m not a criminal,” Jim muttered. That one was a lie.

 

As the elevator opened on the first floor, the nurse wheeled Jim to the cafeteria, making room at a table so he could be seated. Ignoring whatever else the nurse said to him, Jim looked around the cafeteria.

 

“Daisy, where is she?”

 

“Pardon?”

 

Jim continued searching, “The server, Daisy. I remember her. Is she here?”

“Oh!” The nurse nodded, “I’ll go get her.”

 

Only a ghost of a minute passed when Jim heard a gasp, turning his head to see Daisy with her hands over her mouth, the nurse in tow.

 

“Would you like me to leave?” asked the nurse.

 

“You can stay around, thank you,” Daisy waved him off, pulling up a chair next to Jim.

 

As the nurse made his leave, Daisy looked Jim over, opening and closing her mouth as she tried to figure out what to say to him. Jim nodded slowly, greeting her.

 

“Jim!”

 

“Oh, you remember me...” Jim let out a weak chuckle, but his face was affixed in a frown, “I need your help.”

 

“Don’t worry,” Daisy quickly headed behind the counter and prepared a cup of water for him, “I’ll get help. What’s wrong?”

 

“I need something,” Jim glanced inside the paper cup, “Not food.”

 

He badly needed food.

 

Although hesitant at first, wondering what Jim could possibly want this late, Daisy called for another server to arrive. A young dog appeared from the employee’s room, noticing Jim and wrinkling her snubby nose, whispering something into Daisy’s ear. Daisy shook her head and went back to her seat, explaining his situation to her coworker.

 

“So, he’s dying?” The dog crossed her arms.

 

“Ha, I wish!” Jim snorted, “No, I need to do something. I need to call somebody, you’re the only one who can help.”

 

“You only want me?”

 

“Only you.”

 

Daisy nodded, silently gesturing at her coworker to be excused before turning back to Jim and whispering, “What is it? Are you sure you’re not hungry?”

 

“I---yes, can you get me a snack?”

 

Daisy got up, and returned with saltine crackers, “Eat slowly. We don’t want a repeat of our last meeting.”

 

Jim paused, “What?”

 

“Oh, you don’t remember, right,” Daisy sighed, “You passed out in the hallway, after your late-night ice cream. I only knew because a nice older man notified me of it. Don’t worry, it happens.”

 

Jim nibbled on a cracker as he tried to recall that evening, all he could remember were Daisy and pistachio ice cream, everything else came as a blank to him. Had he really passed out? It wasn’t the only blackout he’d had in recent times.

 

“What did you want, sorry?”

 

“I need to call somebody,” Jim gulped down some water and wiped off his beak, “I...wanted to say something to them.”

 

“I can get the records, but this has to be between us. Who do you need to call?”

 

_ Darkwing Duck _ , Jim thought. That wouldn’t work, no.

 

“The old man,” he muttered, “Was he the same one who visited me? Describe him.”

 

Daisy put a finger to her chin as she recalled, “Chubby, wore a sweater vest, archetypal father figure.”

 

Jim’s eyes lit up, “That’s it!”

 

He stood up so quickly that it startled Daisy, and shook her shoulders with fervor, “That’s him! I need to contact him!”

 

“Please, you’ll get a heart attack,” Daisy put his hands down and patted them, “I’ll go get the number from the records, would you like to head back to your room?”

 

In his moment of excitement, Jim had almost forgotten about his still-weakened state, head spinning as thoughts of talking with the old duck again mixed in with the nausea from standing up too quickly. Although at any other time, he would have hated to seem faint in front of everybody, there was no other choice now.

 

“Yes,” he reluctantly nodded, “Yeah, I would. Is there a phone there, I never noticed?”

 

“There should be.”

 

For the past hour, Drake had been sitting in the living room couch, still restless despite the late night, and the chamomile tea his father had prepared. Launchpad was next to him, Gosalyn still asleep upstairs, and Drake Sr. was preparing another cup of tea.

 

All heads turned to the phone near the kitchen as it rang. Being the nearest to the kitchen, Drake Sr. took it first.

 

“Mallard residence, this is Drake Mallard’s father,” He greeted into the phone, expression changing as he recognized the voice on the other hand.

 

“Oh, one second,” he turned to Drake and Launchpad, nodded, then headed further into the kitchen.

 

“What’s wrong, Jim?”

 

Jim’s voice came as a low whisper on the receiving end, strained as if he’d been struggling to speak.

 

_ “I’m not Negaduck.” _


	25. Child In Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the longest chapter by far.
> 
> Also, updated the summary to fit the plot better.

In the kitchen, only a few steps from the living room and yet an entire world apart, Drake Sr. stood. Time seemed to stretch to eternity as he tried to figure out whatever would be a proper response to, ‘I’m not Negaduck.’

“What...what do you mean?” He spoke at last, briefly glancing at Drake and Launchpad, his son having fallen asleep on the other’s shoulders. They didn’t know. They wouldn’t know, not yet.

He wasn’t entirely sure Drake could handle facing Jim again, even by phone.

Jim grumbled from the receiving end and repeated. “I’m not Negaduck. I don’t want to be.”

“Is this a trick?” Drake Sr. raised a brow. “I’m not sure I believe you after everything that happened.” He exited through the kitchen’s back door and into the backyard, where he could speak and listen more clearly. “You’re not the only one who’s suffering here, you know.”

Jim’s voice was even more strained now, almost as if he were struggling to breathe. “I think I’ll die if this keeps up,” he laughed bitterly, “This is all his fault, isn’t it?”

“It’s not Drakey’s---”

“Him, too!” Jim hissed. “But I was talking about him, you know...my...”

“Your father.” Drake Sr. sighed. “Tell me more, please.”

From the other end, Jim produced a cough that stifled its way into hysterical laughter. Another, muttering voice came through, trying to console him. Drake Sr. cringed, disturbed by the response despite knowing that Jim was already deeply troubled.

“What are you, my therapist? Why are you always trying to get something out of me? Wasn’t it enough that I---” He paused, breathed deeply, and in a shaky voice, continued. “I need help.”

Drake Sr. nearly let the phone fall from his hands, trying to register Jim’s sudden outburst and confession. Was he finally coming to a conclusion, that he was after all not completely damaged but was instead somehow salvageable? What prompted this?

A therapist...

“I can’t come over to the hospital right now, I’m sorry. Is tomorrow morning good?” Drake Sr. headed back inside the kitchen. “You mentioned therapists, I do think you might need one.”

“It wasn’t a suggestion! What if Basil kills me? Then I’m not here tomorrow!”

“Let me ask you this, Jim: Are you sorry?”

A brief pause at the other end, before a whispered, “Sorry for what?”

“Everything you did. Breaking into the house, doing that to my son, everything. Are you?”

Another pause, and Jim breathed out, “No.”

“No? I’d say Negaduck is not sorry, but you? You must be sorry. There’s still something inside of you that has regrets and fears. You’re not completely gone. Not yet.”

“Meh.”

“After all,” Drake Sr. looked out the window, gazing at the dark sky beyond. “If you truly weren’t sorry, you wouldn’t have bothered to call me.”

 

Jim hung up, letting out a heavy sigh and placing his head in his hands. Daisy came in with another glass of water, glancing at Jim with worry.

“He’s gonna take me to the looney bin,” he muttered, taking a sip of water. “Figures.”

“Didn’t you want this?”

Jim shook his head. “I don’t know. I wanted to do something more. Get back on track. Be the superstar I used to be...”

Daisy took his hands, and looked into his eyes. “You wanted to ask for help. You did, and he offered help. It’s not a bad thing, Jim.”

“But a therapist? A psych ward? Who do I look like, some...”

“Some washed-up old actor?” Daisy smiled, but Jim did not take this kindly, giving her a scowl in return.

“How would you know?!”

“You said it, you used to be a superstar. Even though I have never heard of you before.”

Jim gritted his teeth. He wanted to say it, tell her that he was---or is---Darkwing Duck. At best she’d stare at him with confusion, at worst she’d laugh at him. Better than nothing, if he could just tell her. He hadn’t ever considered the thought of Darkwing being remotely obscure. Was he really that little-known?

“I’m the terror that flaps in the night.”

Daisy raised a brow.

“I’m Darkwing Duck.”

Daisy still appeared confused, but nodded slowly as she took in what he said. “Isn’t Darkwing Duck...out there? I’ve...heard of him.”

What?” Jim barked, “No! I mean---I was Darkwing Duck. Stuff happened. I’m here now.”

Daisy furrowed her brows, trying to understand Jim’s situation. “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me more.”

Jim wasn’t sure she believed him, Rather than retaliate and accuse her of not knowing who Darkwing Duck was like he would have so long ago, he instead sighed and looked up at the clock.

“I should get some sleep,” he yawned. “If he’s really gonna take me to the looney bin, I should rest for a bit...”

Daisy smiled. “I’ve met this guy before. I know he will treat you well. He was very kind, so I see no issue in what he would do with your situation.”

Jim rolled his eyes. Daisy wasn’t exactly wrong, the old guy certainly was amiable, perhaps a little too much. Jim just didn’t enjoy the fact he constantly wanted to get questions out of him, digging into his personal life like that. Although, to be fair, if Jim truly felt that way towards him, why would he have bothered to call in the first place?

He had to look on the bright side, even if he had to force himself to do such. Gesturing at Daisy that he was ready to head back, Jim set the glass on the table and leaned back in his wheelchair. With a nurse accompanying her, Daisy wheeled him back to the elevator, and to his room.

“You know,” Daisy took a seat near Jim’s bed as the nurse placed him back, “You never told me exactly why you came here. I just assumed you were sick.”

“Is being sick not enough? Sick in the head, eh?” Jim gave a crooked smile.

Daisy chuckled, “No, I mean, I don’t know what it is that you did that has everyone else telling me you should be in jail and stuff. I don’t think you could do that.”

Jim’s face fell, had the nurses told her what he’d done? That he was Negaduck, wrecking havoc all over the city. Not that he regretted it, not quite, but it would be a smear on his resume. He couldn’t let Daisy know.

“You don’t think so?”

Daisy shook her head, “Nope. Look at you, I don’t think anyone should be scared of somebody like you. And Mr. Mallard, uh, senior was kind to you too.”

Jim had two options to go here: tell her the truth and risk losing maybe the only friend he’s had in a long time, or continue fabricating lies about himself. Strangely enough, he had been mostly honest until this point.

“You’re right,” Jim smiled, “I don’t get it either.”

He decided to test her. “What...do you think of Darkwing Duck?”

Daisy turned her head. “How do you mean? Like, as a person? I’ve only seen him in the news.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“He seems nice. Heroic, a good guardian of the city if I’ve heard of one. St. Canard has a lot of crime problems.”

Jim’s eyes widened. “And what else?”

“I’ll admit, he’s kind of cute.”

Jim blushed, she certainly couldn’t be talking about him.

“Do you...think I could be Darkwing Duck?” He asked, bracing for whatever answer to come. Of course he was Darkwing Duck, he always was first and foremost.

“I don’t know, you seem a little...old.”

Old.

Something in Jim’s brain fired up, bottled up sense of fury sprung out of him, bringing new life into his body as he took Daisy’s shoulders. “Old?!”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it in a bad way!”

The nurse tried to restrain Jim, without much success. He continued to fume. “Old?! Do you think Darkwing Duck is old?! I’m Darkwing Duck!”

“Jim! It’s okay!” Daisy tried to place her hands to his, despite the worry in her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to....insinuate.”

“Are you sure? Have you been talking to the old man? Huh?” Jim broke out into laughter. “He’s the one who’s old. Chubby dad looking—-“

“Jim.”

Jim stopped, looking into Daisy’s eyes, her beak pulled into a stern frown.

“He offered to help you. And he was right, you do need help.”

Basil was still dormant and nestled deep inside Jim’s mind, but he could sense him wanting to come to the front and apprehend Daisy. Strangle her or something.

Jim looked down at his shaking hands. Strangle her.

In front of the nurse?

“Daisy...” he wheezed. “He was never Darkwing Duck.”

“You’re not well.” Daisy attempted to place a hand to his forehead, but he swatted it away with force.

“I’m perfectly fine! I’m Darkwing Duck!”

He shook her shoulders, the nurse trying to hold him back again. “I’m Darkwing Duck! I’m not old! I’m Darkwing Duck!”

“Jim, stop it!”

“I’m Darkwing Duck.” He repeated, breathing heavily.

“If you need medicine or something, I can get it for you, otherwise I don’t understand what is going on!” Daisy pushed him back in the bed, motioning to the nurse to deal with his neuroses.

“I should be going home, and you should be asleep.” She pulled the blanket over his body. “I hope you feel better.”

Jim watched as Daisy sighed, shuddered, and left the room, quickly saying good-bye to him before departing. He felt he lost her at that moment. That, he regretted.

And she was right. He probably needed help.

“I tortured him.” Jim confessed, despite the fact that both Daisy and the nurse had left the room. “I gave him the good ol’ PTSD, broke into his house, kidnapped his little daughter, ha ha.”

Again he broke into laughter, this time accompanied by tears. “I’m Darkwing Duck, of course. I’m Darkwing Duck. I—“

He paused, and looked down at his hands. After several minutes, he let himself sob and buried his head in his hands.

“I’m Jim Starling.”

 

Drake Sr. hadn’t told the rest of the family where he was heading to, out of fear that his son would disagree with the idea and try to convince him to stay. The trauma was still too fresh, for him. Drake Sr. had promised to come meet Jim tomorrow, after all, and he wasn’t one to break promises.

“I’m here to meet somebody.” He said as he walked to the register. “Did he inform you?”

“Who?”

“Jim Starling, room 91.”

The registrar shuffled through her thick portfolio, thumbing her way to the “S” index and flipping through the pages. “I don’t see anything about a meeting. Did you call him?”

“Yes, last night. He should allow it.”

She continued shifting through the pages. “I apologize, I don’t see any---”

Another voice poked through, and Drake Sr. recognized it. He turned around to see the lady from the cafeteria several nights ago. “Sir? You’re here!”

Despite her tone, she wasn’t exactly happy, twiddling her fingers and biting her lip. “Jim did agree to meet with you. But, please be careful.”

Drake Sr. put a hand to her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ve dealt with him before, I know what to do.”

“He had a mental breakdown last night. He’s not well.”

“I’ve dealt with neuroses before. Let me handle this.”

Daisy sighed and told Drake Sr. to follow her, leading him up the elevator and to room 91. She whispered to a nearby nurse, who nodded in return and entered the room, exiting after a few minutes.

“He says he can talk.” The nurse gestured to the door. “If there is any problem, please call me.”

“Thank you.” Drake Sr. nodded, slowly entering the room as he anticipated Jim’s appearance.

The duck in the bed held the most bitter scowl Drake Sr. had seen in his lifetime, gripping tightly at his blanket and avoiding eye contact. He was still hooked up to various medical devices, but no longer had the diodes placed atop his head. He could see tear stains on the blanket, but made no comment on it.

“Hello?” He took a seat, keeping his distance from Jim slightly.

The other did not turn to look at Drake Sr., gripping his blanket even tighter. “You’re here.”

“As promised.”

“You didn’t promise anything.” Jim finally turned his head. Drake Sr. could see how puffy and red his remaining eye was, with a dark shadow underneath.

“I should have told you, sorry. Anyway, you allowed me in, so...”

Jim scoffed, although it could have been him sniffling as well. “Here to talk about my problems?”

“Here to recommend a therapist, too.” Drake Sr. scooted forward. “If I say anything that sets you off, please tell me.”

Jim looked Drake Sr. up and down and squinted. “Do you...forgive me?”

Drake Sr’s heart nearly skipped a beat, unsure how to answer this question. Forgive him for what? He definitely didn’t appreciate the fact that Jim--or Negaduck--went out of his way to make his son’s life a living hell and potentially lose faith in his former idol. He couldn’t forgive him for that, no. Yet, there was the issue that Jim was very, very deeply troubled and it wasn’t really his fault. Negaduck had to be some way of coping, he theorized, even if it ended up being extremely dangerous. Jim’s state of mind couldn’t be the same after the explosion, either...How did he survive?

Forgive Jim Starling? Or forgive Negaduck?

Was, Drake Sr. worried, he just in denial of Jim’s actions, out of the fact that he used to be Darkwing Duck?

“I don’t forgive Negaduck, but I can understand you.” Is what Drake settled on answering.

Jim raised an eyebrow. “What? So you forgive me, or not?”

Drake Sr. shook his head. “Not quite. Here’s the thing, I write murder mystery novels, I have to get in the head of the killer for each novel to understand their actions and why they did the things they did, in order for the story to make sense. I’m trying that with you, trying to understand why you became Negaduck, and did...what you did.”

 

“Jim Starling died in that explosion.” Jim sighed. “Before that, he had...learned that there was going to be a Darkwing Duck movie. He was so excited, so delighted...and then. Drake Mallard came in. Ruined everything. But, in a moment of realization before everything went ka-boom, Jim sacrificed his life to save his biggest fan. And Drake, too. Drake set it all up. He wanted to steal Jim’s biggest fan.”

“You’re not dead, you’re right here. You survived, somehow...” Drake Sr. rubbed his chin. “Although for certain your brain took the brunt of the damage, didn’t it?”

Jim rolled his eyes, saying nothing.

“But, before all of that, the demon plaguing your life was your father. And that’s where I think therapy needs to go in. So you can finally get rid of him once and for all.”

Jim growled, side-eyeing Drake Sr. “He’s in my head. He’s haunting me. Torturing me.”

“But he is only in your head, isn’t he?” Drake Sr. pointed out. “Although, what was the cigarette smell back then? Have you been smoking?”

“Maybe.”

“Don’t. If that’s what your father did, then, don’t.”

Jim hissed, ready to tear apart the blanket. Drake Sr. kept his distance, muttering sorry, but continued:

“You told me you wanted to be nothing like your father. Why don’t you strive for that goal today, and maybe...maybe he will get out of your head.”

“Is that your idea of therapy, old man?” Jim sneered.

Drake Sr. chuckled. “It’s something you can try. Come on, I’m a dad, too. And I know how it is to never be loved by your own parents.” He stood up, and stretched, still watching Jim. “Because my parents never loved me. Never cared about me. That’s why I took it upon myself to give Drakey as much love as possible.”

He’d half-expected Jim to roll his eyes again or make a snide comment, but Drake Sr. was surprised to see that he didn’t say anything, his face twisted into a pained expression. He could tell Jim was thinking about his own life, and how it compared to Drake’s. The grip on Jim’s blanket loosened, and he brought a hand to his face, squeezing the bridge of his bill.

“Take me.” Jim sighed.

“Pardon?”

“Take me to that psychiatric place you wanted me to go to. I’m tired. I can’t do this anymore.”

Drake Sr. furrowed his brows. Was Jim giving up? Was it a trick?

“Jim?” 

The other wiped away at his eye, yet he smiled. “I don’t want to be Negaduck anymore. I want to be Darkwing Duck.”

“My son is Darkwing Duck---”

“I know!” Jim interrupted. “Can’t I be Darkwing Duck, too? Can’t I be the one thing that ever made me happy? Why did your son have to steal him from me?”

Drake Sr. re-took his seat. “Listen. Drakey was your biggest fan. He loved Darkwing Duck. He’d come after school every day and stay up late at night just to watch your show. He so badly wanted to be Darkwing Duck, and to meet you someday. Now, he thinks he’s failed you.”

Jim groaned, hands to his face. “Just...just take me in. Please.”

“Now, hold on---”

“Take me in before I blow up the hospital, or something!” Jim suddenly grabbed at Drake Sr.’s collar, grinning with his eyes widened. Daisy was right, he wasn’t well at all.

“I will. I’ll have to tell the nurse. But, I will.” Drake Sr. pried Jim’s hands off him, giving him a warm smile. 

For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, Jim smiled. A real smile, complete with sparkle in his eyes.


End file.
